Some Desperate Glory
by Adderlygirl
Summary: James Wilkins is simply trying to live his life peacefully, but when his best friend brings a bride to South Carolina, he finds his life and his loyalties are not always as clear as he once believed.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note and Disclaimer: _The Patrio_t is not mine, nor are the characters I poached from it. If someone would like to give me the more decorative men from that, I'd happily take them, though. Original characters mine, no money being made, no need to sue. (and there will be no repetition of this in the chapters to come)

Any historical errors are my own (though there might be one or two from the film).

Warnings: abuse, adultery, same-sex relationships (though not portrayed), violence (it is war, after all)—in other words, a very adult story.

There was another version of this on LJ. It's been edited and changed from that version.

* * *

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 1**

Charles Town, May, 1778

She was the most beautiful woman James Wilkins had ever seen—and he'd seen some truly beautiful women in his thirty years. When she stepped to the gangway, the rising sun lit her hair, burnished it red-gold. She wore no hat, and a maid quickly rushed up to her with one in the same shade of green as her gown. She allowed the maid to settle the hat on her head but pushed the other woman's hands away when she went to tie the ribbons before refusing the parasol the maid carried. She stepped daintily down the gangway, the maid fluttering behind her.

James had agreed to accompany his childhood friend, Will Cameron, to meet his bride. Will had travelled through Europe the year before, and he'd met a woman, romanced her, and managed to win her hand in marriage despite, he claimed, the fact that she was a member of a minor European royal family. James privately found it hard to believe royalty would marry a daughter off to a South Carolina planter, no matter how wealthy the planter was. Royal daughters were far more valuable pawns in forming political alliances than they were at amassing wealth, and the family from which Will claimed she came didn't need his money.

"There she is," Will said, and stepped toward the ship. James had a sinking feeling as his friend approached the lovely woman he'd watched descend the gangway of _The Delilah_. Up close, she looked like a china doll his sister had once owned, James thought, tiny compared to his unusual six feet four, and perfectly formed. As he approached the couple, he noticed she didn't powder her milky skin or her hair. That hair, what he could see from beneath her hat, was pulled back simply, no hanging ringlets, no curls escaping to nestle against her temples, neck, or shoulders. Her silk gown complimented the pale green of her eyes, and her features were as delicate as the molded china of one of his sister Katherine's many dolls. Given her hair shaded toward a red-gold up close, he was surprised she had no freckles. Her only flaw, if one could call it that, was what looked like a stubborn chin.

"Anna-Elizabeth," Will breathed, and kissed the woman's hand. Just as Will's lips touched her hand, another woman barreled down the gangway.

"Your Highness!" she wheezed in scandalized tones. James bit back a smile. She was clearly the woman's chaperone. "Mr. Cameron!" she hissed, catching her breath. "_Really_!" Will dropped his fiancée's hand.

"Mrs. MacKay," Will said with a brief nod of the head. "Forgive me for being overcome at seeing Anna-Elizabeth again." The beautiful doll blushed, but James noted she had not smiled once. He found that curious. Will was considered a handsome man by the women of South Carolina, and he was capable of great charm. Surely the woman had chosen to marry him?

Will turned to James then and said, "My dear, allow me to present my close friend, James Wilkins. James, may I introduce my fiancée, the Princess Anna-Elizabeth Gabriella Antoinette Richelle du Mare of Vallée du Falcon."

James bowed deeply. She met his eyes as he rose from the bow, and she nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Your Highness," he murmured, captivated by the intelligent assessment he saw in the depths of her green eyes.

"James owns the property next to mine," Will continued. "We've known each other our entire lives."

The princess gave James a tiny smile then, and he felt a curious tightness in his chest. She said, "How lovely." Her voice was soft, and the surprisingly faint accent gave her words an attractive lilt. "Allow me to introduce my companion," she continued, "Mrs. Rachel MacKay."

James bowed slightly to the woman who curtseyed in return.

The next several minutes were taken up with Will and the princess's maid sorting out the luggage. James stood beside the princess and her companion out of the way of the docksmen and the other passengers disembarking _The Delilah_. The companion gave him a baleful stare, and James decided to annoy her further by saying to the princess, "I hope your journey was pleasant, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Mr. Wilkins," she replied. "It was relatively uneventful."

The companion snorted.

Will rejoined them, having overseen the transfer of the princess's trunks and boxes to a wagon along with the maid. "Shall we?" He offered the princess his hand, and she took it, allowed Will to lead her to the carriage and help her inside. James escorted the companion. He and Will sat opposite the two women facing the rear of the carriage.

As they rode the miles to Will's family plantation, James often found his gaze returned to the young woman opposite him. He surreptitiously studied the princess. She was attentive to Will's monologue about the area, looked at the landmarks he pointed out to her, but she offered no comments and asked no questions. James wondered how old she was. She looked to be in her teens, but he had learned long ago that telling a woman's age was a difficult art. There was something in her eyes, though, a sort of sorrowful shadow that intrigued him and told him she had seen things from which many young women were generally protected.

When they finally drove past the entrance to James's home, Will called his fiancée's attention to it. The house, like nearly all the others they had passed, was not visible from the road, but she seemed to strain to see it through the large, sprawling oaks and other thick vegetation that that lined the drive. That pleased James for reasons he was unwilling to consider, and for the first time he regretted his ancestors had preferred privacy to bragging in brick.

They soon arrived at Hart's Crossing, Will's home, where the Cameron sisters came down the front steps to meet them. James saw his own sister, Katherine, was with them. He stepped down from the coach and crossed toward Katy, looped an arm around her shoulders as Will descended and held out his hand to help his fiancée alight. James felt Katy stiffen, so he gently squeezed her shoulder. His sister had been in love with Will since she was a child, and James wondered why she had decided to punish herself by being there to welcome Will's bride.

After everyone was introduced, Will ushered them all inside where his mother waited in the entry hall to greet them. Helen Cameron then directed a servant to show the princess her room, and the young woman and her chaperone ascended the stairs with the princess's maid following. James and Katy followed the family to the drawing room, and a servant was sent to fetch Will's father. Watching Mrs. Cameron's sour expression as she took a seat, James wondered why she had sent a servant to show her future daughter-in-law to her quarters rather than do so herself. He wondered if, perhaps, she was not happy about her son's choice of bride.

Seated on a sofa with Katy, James listened as another servant directed luggage upstairs. Will's youngest sister kept trying to catch his eye, but James ignored her. The girl had been throwing herself at him for the last couple of months, and he didn't wish to encourage her. He needed to think about finding a wife of his own, he knew, but he had met no woman who interested him enough to court. His mother despaired that he would never settle down, but between sorting out his father's estate after his death two years before and running a large plantation, James had more than enough to keep him occupied without courting a bride. He kept a mistress in Charles Town, a widow who had begun to make it clear she would like to be the mistress of Oak Point. They would have to part ways since he had no intention of marrying the woman. He knew his mother and Will's hoped he would marry one of the Cameron sisters, but to James they were like his own sisters, and he couldn't imagine bedding them. This was likely the same reason Will had never considered James's sister Katy as a bride.

His personal life was further complicated by the war that had briefly come to South Carolina three years earlier. He, like his father before him, was loyal to the crown, and like his father, he was careful to do nothing to provoke his friends and neighbors. Nor did he openly throw in with other supporters of the King. It was getting harder to walk a middle ground, harder to refuse the oaths his fellow planters and those followers of Christopher Gadsden insisted all South Carolinians swear. He had recently had a conversation with a fellow planter, another man like himself who couldn't bring himself to support the rebels. Like James, Paul Herrington feared their lands would be forfeit if they didn't finally give in, and neither he nor James could afford that.

James sincerely hoped he could manage to quietly continue his life, farm his land, support his family and dependents, and that the war would not return to South Carolina and force his hand.

He came to his feet when the princess entered the drawing room. She had changed her travelling clothes for a gown in deep emerald green silk. Like her travelling costume, its high, rounded neck covered most of her skin, and the long, fitted sleeves and narrow skirts were not fashionable. James found he liked it, though, if for no other reason than she wasn't obviously padded or plumped to show a figure that wasn't hers. Like the Cameron men, he bowed and waited for her to be seated next to Will's mother before resuming his own seat.

As the servants brought in refreshments, Mrs. Cameron asked, "Do tell us about your family, Your Highness."

Will's princess blushed prettily and said, "Please, call me Anna-Elizabeth. I am not a princess here."

James could tell this pleased the other woman, knew that Helen Cameron considered herself at the top of the social pecking order, at least in their neighborhood, and a daughter-in-law with royal rank would diminish that. He could practically hear her considering how to hide the princess's true status.

"Do you have brothers and sisters?" Will's oldest sister, Honoria, asked.

"Two sisters," Anna-Elizabeth said. "And Jorie," she added as an afterthought.

James thought that strange until Will said, "Jorie—or, actually, Joran—is Anna-Elizabeth's brother. He's a natural son." For a moment, James thought Mrs. Cameron would swoon. Will had, in effect, just admitted that there had been an infidelity in the princess's family.

"Is your father a king?" asked Will's youngest sister.

Anna-Elizabeth murmured her thanks as she accepted a teacup from Mrs. Cameron. "No. He's an admiral in the British navy, Sir George Ramsdell."

"So your mother is a princess?" the girl asked.

"Yes," she answered. "She's the Princess Falken."

Will's father suddenly had a choking cough, and his mother looked like she might faint. The title was familiar to James, but he couldn't place the particulars. He noticed that Anna-Elizabeth's hand shook as she lifted the cup to her lips. She didn't look up, paled, and stared instead at her tea as she lowered it back to her saucer.

"I beg your pardon," Katy said, "but what is the Princess Falken?"

The princess looked across at them and said, "It's a hereditary title passed through the female line of my family. It dates to the early third century and passes to the second daughter of each generation."

"Why the second daughter?" the youngest Cameron asked.

"Our homeland was ruled by women, and men who wanted to take it thought forcing the heiress to marry them would give it to them. Changing custom to bar the oldest from the succession confused our enemies and preserved our rulers. The oldest daughters were sometimes married off to rivals to protect the future queens. The warlords and kings never understood the idea that the eldest did not inherit, and it saved us until we could negotiate treaties to remain an independent principality."

"So will you be the next Princess Falken?" Will's oldest sister asked.

"No," she said. "I would not be here if I were. The Princess Falken is not allowed to marry. My sister Ghislaine will be the next Princess Falken when our mother dies."

James's attention was caught by the desperate looks Will's mother sent his father. The princess had just admitted her illegitimacy, and James knew that the Camerons would be quickly seeking a way to break the engagement. Royalty or not, natural daughters did not marry into the families of Rice Kings in South Carolina, or, at least, they didn't marry the heirs. He eyed the princess speculatively. Surely she knew that.

But perhaps she didn't, he reflected, taking a mouthful of his own tea. It sounded as if in her homeland her illegitimacy was no barrier to the highest echelons of society.

"We don't speak of such things here, my dear," Will's mother said faintly.

The princess stiffened slightly. "I have nothing of which to be ashamed," she said quietly, and James could not have been the only one to hear the underlying steel in her voice. It was that hint of hard anger that drew his closer scrutiny.

It was her face he watched when Mrs. Cameron said, "Of course not, my dear, but such things are not spoken of in polite society—particularly when innocent young women are present."

He watched the princess survey the others in the room, and he wondered if he imagined that she paused a moment when she looked at him. "I beg your pardon if I have caused offense," she said, "but in my family, we are honest about the ways of the world."

James's lips twitched at the rebuke. It was prettily said, but there was no mistaking the criticism. Ironically, Katy was the one to come to her rescue by asking about her home country.

James and Katy took their leave of the Camerons. Will's mother protested, but both Wilkinses wanted away from the tension that had grown over the course of the late afternoon and early evening. He rode silently beside Katy, lost in thought.

"James?"

"Hmm?" He looked across at his sister.

"How could he possibly marry her?"

He was tempted to tell her exactly what Will saw in the woman and why any man would want to marry her. "Katy," he said, "she's a lovely girl, and she's—"

"She's awful!" she cut in. "She has no idea of proper conversation. I bet she can neither play nor sew, and I doubt she could manage a household."

Those certainly seemed to be the criteria by which women judged a proper wife—well, perhaps not the conversation part—but James was well aware that someone could always be hired, bought, or trained to do those things and that what a man really wanted was a woman who could please him in bed and bear him children while insuring his household remained orderly. He realized how shallow that was. Personally, he would settle for an intelligent woman who could hold her end of a conversation, who made his home comfortable, who entertained his guests, and who satisfied him in bed.

It was quite clear, however, that Will was besotted with Anna-Elizabeth. He rarely took his eyes from her, and James wondered what the princess thought of his friend. He got the impression she didn't feel for him as Will apparently felt for her, but Will had always been able to ignore the things he didn't want to see. James couldn't help but wonder why she had agreed to marry his friend.

-X-

It was several weeks before James saw either Will or Anna-Elizabeth again. He heard plenty about the two of them, though. Katy and his mother discussed them over dinner each evening, recounting and analyzing the most recent gossip. In each case, the princess was found wanting. Apparently, she treated the slaves like people rather than furniture. James saw nothing wrong in that, especially since his mother and sister certainly treated their maids with a personal fondness. The princess also declined to play the pianoforte, thus, apparently, proving Katy's observation that she was not musical. James didn't see that as a sin since his ears had been tortured any number of times by ladies who really shouldn't have inflicted their lack of talent on others. In the evenings she read novels and political treatises when the women sewed, and she dared to offer opinions on the war between England and the Colonies when the men joined them. Worst of all, his sister whispered loudly to his mother, she rode astride—in trousers, no less—until Will's father put a stop to her access to the stables. James had choked on his wine rather than laugh out loud, and that was probably a good thing.

So it was that when James escorted his mother and sister to the Collins' ball for Will and Anna-Elizabeth, he looked forward to seeing what supposedly outrageous thing she might do.

He had not imagined her beauty, he noted, bowing to her when they were reintroduced. She was absolutely lovely. Her hair was pulled back and up into a simple knot. She wore an ice blue gown of silk, though this time the square neckline exposed a considerable amount of flesh, and her skirts were as wide as those of the other women present. She wore pearls at her throat and ears. Despite her smile, her eyes were sad. James asked for a dance, and she mutely handed him her dance card. He wrote his name in the only open blank, bowed and moved on.

When he claimed his dance, he was charmed by how easily she moved through the figures. She had a natural grace, and he thanked her at the end of the dance. As he was about to move away, she laid her hand on his forearm. "Would you be so kind as to escort me to Will?"

"Certainly," he said. "I believe he's outside."

He led her out of the second floor ballroom, down the staircase, and out onto the sloping lawn. Lanterns lit a sizeable area of the garden, and a number of guests were outside taking advantage of what breeze could be found in the nearly oppressive heat of the June evening. James shortened his steps for the princess and scanned the clusters of people for Will. As they walked, the princess breathed deeply, and James was amazed she was able to do so. Most of the women he knew were so tightly laced when they wore evening clothes they could barely breathe, let alone take in a true lungful of air. "Have you settled in, Your Highness?" he asked.

She looked up at him solemnly. "Please, call me Anna-Elizabeth."

"I'm afraid that would be inappropriate, Your Highness," he observed.

"Then call me Miss Ramsdell," she offered.

"Didn't Will introduce you as du Mare?" he asked, momentarily confused. He was certain that was the surname Will had given her.

"My birth records use my father's name, Ramsdell. du Mare is the name of the ruling family, though neither Ghislaine nor I use it."

They walked further, and James continued to watch for Will. "Is there a reason you don't wish to be called by your title?"

"It seems so pretentious here, away from Europe. I realize many of you Americans see yourselves as independent and as equals, and it seems odd to hang on to remnants of royalty when I shall marry a planter, not a prince."

She said it seriously, he noted with no coyness, no attempt to draw any protestations from him. She simply stated the facts as she saw them. As a result, he offered a truth of his own. "Actually, some may talk about equality, but few truly believe it."

"Mmm," she said, and the sound warmed him. "So social stratification is as alive and well here as it is in Europe—despite the words of your Messieurs Adams, Franklin, Jefferson, and Madison?"

He was startled she knew the names. "As long as there are those who have more than others," James said honestly, "I think men will see them as somehow better or more important than those who have less."

"This war," she said, looking up at him, "is it, then, a war for independence and equality as some claim or a war to create a more localized form of tyranny?"

James decided to consider her question seriously rather than dismiss it as he knew most men would. "I suspect we will use it to institutionalize an American aristocracy. There are, however, those who think our differences with England can be settled without a war, and if that were the case, there undoubtedly would be little change in our social order. Had cooler heads prevailed, we would simply petition to change our governance so that we have home rule and representation in the English parliament. There are those who hope that at the end of this, that will be the outcome, that the King and his government will understand that we are quite capable of being loyal subjects while governing ourselves."

She traced a finger of the hand on his arm along a fold in his sleeve. "Are you one of those?"

He shook his head. "No," he conceded. "The depth of the enmity is such that it is inevitable America will be fully subjugated if the rebellion is unsuccessful, though certainly the New Englanders are dedicated to their notions of full independence. I only hope that the war is short and that it settles the matter once and for all."

The princess nodded. "All men think wars will be short, that they will settle matters, but it is rarely so. You are now more than three years into this one," she said, and he heard a note of sorrow in her voice. "Which side will you support, Mr. Wilkins, when the time comes?"

James didn't even have to think about his answer, despite the fact that he had spent the last several years walking a fine line while failing to take a definitive side. "I will be loyal to my king and country," he said. He spied her fiancé then, talking to a small group of their neighbors. "There's Will."

When he had handed her off to his friend, James returned to the house and joined a group of gentlemen playing cards. As he played, he thought of what the princess had said about independence, equality, tyranny, and war. He wondered what had caused the shadows in her eyes and sorrow in her voice when she talked of war, and he thought about what would happen when the war returned to South Carolina as well as what would happen when he was forced to play his chosen hand.

-X-

Early the next morning, James decided to go riding before seeking his bed. He changed his clothes and headed for the stables. It was but an hour past dawn, and he'd had moderate luck at the tables. He was a cautious gambler, and he probably could have increased his winnings had he made larger wagers, but he preferred not to throw his money away. If South Carolina were to be thrown into the war once more, and it most assuredly would be, he would fight. If he were to be gone from his plantation, if the war were to come to this part of South Carolina rather than just Charles Town, then preserving what money he had now might make the difference in survival for his family and dependents. He had watched some of the other planters and their sons throw away huge sums on losing bets that evening, knew many of them could ill afford it due to the blockade and the insistence of the rebels who now largely controlled the South Carolina government that goods be neither imported nor exported from or to England. Fortunes withered as the planters could no longer legally send their crops to the most lucrative markets and had to pay profiteers for what goods could be had.

Still, he'd walked away from the table with more pounds than he had sat down with, though only by a small margin.

When he arrived at the stables, he saw a woman in a riding habit the same color of the rather excellent claret he'd enjoyed the night before. She wore a small hat, rather like the one he remembered from a woodcut of Robin Hood that had been in one of his childhood story books. When she heard his footsteps and turned, he saw it was Will's princess. He nodded at the stable boy, who went to saddle his horse.

"Good morning, Mr. Wilkins," she said as he joined her.

"Your Highness," he said with a bow.

A boy led a lovely black mare out to a mounting block, and the princess walked toward it. James followed. "Pardon me, Your Highness," he said. "Do you intend to ride alone?"

She looked over her shoulder at him as she stepped on the block. "Yes," she said softly. "No one else seems to be about."

"You should at least take a servant with you," he said.

"Do any of the servants ride?" she asked coolly.

James smiled wryly. The men in the stables did, but he doubted any of the female servants did. "Point taken," he said. "It's not safe for a woman alone to ride here," he explained. What he was about to propose was wildly inappropriate, he knew, but it was better than allowing her to ride alone in a place she did not know. "Perhaps you would allow me to join you."

Ignoring him, she lifted her skirts several inches, eyed the side-saddle, and James remembered the scandalized whispering of his sister about her riding astride. He noticed she wore boots that were not unlike his own. He finally realized from her concentrated frown that she wasn't sure how to get herself in the saddle.

"If I may give you a leg up?" She looked at him, startled, and dropped her skirt. "It might be easier if I lift you," he explained.

The princess gave him a tight nod. He approached her and said softly, "Hold the right side of your skirt out so that you can more comfortably arrange it. I'll lift you into the saddle, and when I do, hook your right knee over the horn." He mounted the block behind her and put his hands on her waist. She weighed next to nothing, he thought as she followed his instructions. He fixed her skirt for her, swiftly and efficiently, having helped teach his sister when she was a child.

"Thank you, Mr. Wilkins," she softly said, color running up her cheeks. "If you would care to join me, I would be honored."

He murmured something to the stable boy who brought him his horse, and the boy nodded. "Marcus will ride with us," he said. When the lad came out on a sorry excuse for a horse, James mounted his own. He looked at the princess. "He's not exactly the perfect chaperone, but he'll do."

She smiled and then nodded at the boy. "Thank you, Marcus." From his expression, James imagined the boy blushed under his dark skin.

They set off at a walk, Marcus trailing them far enough behind that they could speak in private. "Is there anywhere in particular you would like to ride, Your Highness?"

"I'm not particular, Mr. Wilkins, but I will only ride with you if you stop calling me 'Your Highness.' I've come to realize that almost every conversation we've had at this point has generally been dominated by the issue of what you may call me."

James smiled at her stiff little speech. "And what shall I call you? Princess?"

"Please, no," she said fervently, and he laughed at her tone. "Anna-Elizabeth will do."

"That's still an awful lot of name for such a little bit of woman," he said, "and I really shouldn't address you as such."

She gave him a long look. "If you will indulge me, Mr. Wilkins," she said softly. "I have no friends here, and you're one of the few people I've met who has been kind to me."

He digested that for a moment or two. There was no self-pity there. He was not surprised that neither Will's mother nor his sisters had been particularly friendly to her. They had championed Katy for Will's wife, and the things the princess had shared about her own family had clearly put them off. She was also a most unusual female, and that would not win her friends amongst many of the women of South Carolina. "What do your friends call you?"

"Anna-Elizabeth," she said with a smile. "Jorie calls me Anna sometimes, but my youngest sister calls me Beth."

"Beth," he said, and she gave him a sunny smile. That smile did things to him, things he really shouldn't think about.

"Arianna has a tendency to shorten everyone's name. She's the one who dubbed Joran Jorie, and she has the audacity to refer to our cousin, a crown prince, as Mal rather than Maldon."

He returned her smile. "Beth suits you, but you must know I cannot call you that."

Her smile faded. "For this morning, Mr. Wilkins, I would be honored if you addressed me so. When we return to the Collins's you may return to proper address."

As he looked at her, James wondered if that was arrogance or a natural instinct to command those not of her station. "James."

She looked surprised for a moment, but then her smile returned and she nodded. "James."

They maintained a good pace, never rose above a trot for fear Marcus' horse could not keep up, and they talked. James found her charming. She was a uniquely well-informed woman, and she seemed genuinely interested in politics and economics. As they rode beneath spreading oaks dripping moss and past open fields of crops, she asked about the unfamiliar plants. She asked numerous questions about the rice, especially about the irrigation and harvest. He explained the gates that allowed them to use the rivers to flood the fields and control the amount of water and about the cutting, threshing, and milling of the grain. She asked about their markets for the crops, and it was clear she understood the economic forces and issues facing them. She asked about the slaves, and James explained that it simply wasn't feasible to run plantations the size of those in South Carolina with paid labor. He knew Benjamin Martin claimed to not own slaves, and while Martin's place was small compared to Oak Point and some of the others, James seriously doubted that Martin's people were free and paid cash wages.

He could tell Beth didn't approve of slavery. James had his own moments of unease with the institution, but he had long ago accepted it was the way things were done in South Carolina.

They rode in silence for a while, and then Beth mused, "For a group of people who endorsed a document declaring all men are equal, it seems hypocritical to then enslave men simply because the color of their skin is darker than those making the rules and the pronouncements of freedom."

"Tell me, Your Highness," he said tersely, "in your country do you bar certain people from certain occupations, from land ownership, simply because they weren't born into the right families."

She nodded almost imperceptibly, a blush stealing up her cheeks. "Touché, James."

They rode on in silence. James, noting the passage of time, turned them back toward the stables, and when they arrived, he helped Beth from her saddle. She thanked Marcus again, and they handed their horses off to stable boys and walked toward the house. Before they came in sight of it, James stopped. "Perhaps you should go on alone," he said.

Beth looked up at him. "Why?"

"There may be others up, and it wouldn't do to have us seen coming in together without your chaperone."

She studied him. "I understand my inappropriate behavior is already the talk of the neighbors," she said, dryly. "If your reputation won't bear it—"

James laughed, and he wasn't sure why he asked it, but he did. "Did Will's father really forbid you to ride because you rode astride in trousers?"

Her face flooded with color, rivaling the deep, dark red of her habit and hat. "It is far safer to ride astride than in those sorry excuses for saddles to which you colonials confine women. At the risk of scandalizing you—" she lifted her skirt's hem slightly higher than her knees, and James saw a pair of trousers of the same fabric as her habit tucked in the tops of her boots. She quickly dropped the skirt when he'd seen them. "The stories of my depravity are somewhat exaggerated."

"It's not my reputation I'm worried about," James admitted, feeling one confession deserved another.

Beth sagged. "I don't understand why everyone worries so about other people's behaviors. It seems to me, James, that one should give others the benefit of the doubt about their characters until presented with definitive evidence that there is a flaw."

What she said made sense, but it was not the way society worked. James was certain that even in her country, perhaps more so in her case since she was a member of the royal family, her behavior was expected to be better than that of others. He wondered at the bitterness of her tone, and he began to have a deep suspicion that her family had welcomed an American suitor because Beth had been compromised in some way. "What you say is logical," he conceded, "but societal rules are not always logical."

She breathed in deeply, and squared her shoulders. "No. They are not." She looked up at him again. "Thank you for an enjoyable morning, Mr. Wilkins."

"You're very welcome, Your Highness."

The princess nodded and strode toward the house. James waited long enough to allow her to gain entry and possibly reach her room before he followed her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 2**

More than a month passed before James next met the princess. He escorted his mother and sister to dinner at the Cameron's because Will's mother wanted to consult James's about the engagement party and ball the Camerons would soon hold for the couple. James thought it odd the woman chose his mother to help plan the event rather than Beth. Perhaps the little princess thought participating in such a mundane task was beneath her, but he didn't think so. She hadn't struck him as the type to leave tasks to others that might be best done herself, and he suspected she might be a woman who knew her own mind.

He had continued to think of her as Beth, though he shouldn't in the event he slipped and called her that in company. He liked Beth, but as he sat through dinner and the rest of the evening, he didn't think he much liked the princess.

During the meal she sat stiffly, and he was once again reminded of Katy's china dolls. She said little, but to be fair, almost no one spoke to her. She concentrated on her bowls and plates, never once looked up at the table's other occupants. James would have thought she would at least have looked at those with whom she dined. When the last plates were cleared, she retired to the parlor with the rest of the women while James followed Will and his father to a drawing room separated from the parlor by pocket doors. After brandy, cigars, and dull discussions of horse breeding and the potential markets for their crops if the war continued to drag on, the doors were opened, and they joined the women.

Beth sat alone in an armchair while Will's mother and James's had their heads together on one of the sofas with Will's oldest sister. Will's other two sisters and Katy sat on the other sofa chatting. James briefly wondered if she had chosen to isolate herself or if she had been intentionally excluded. There was an empty chair next to Beth. As Will went to claim it, James took one of the empty chairs across from them.

He watched the couple through the evening, noted that Will rarely spoke to or looked at Beth. Will's mother made pronouncements about the party and the wedding, but she never asked for Beth's opinion. Beth, in turn, offered none. James got the feeling she would have been ignored had she done so. Eventually, Honoria, Will's oldest sister, rose and crossed to the piano where she played a pretty but not very challenging piece. Each of the girls took turns, and James observed Beth as the others played or sang. She sat rigidly upright and studied her hands in her lap. He tried to decide if she was bored, rude, or some combination of the two.

It finally occurred to him to wonder where her chaperone was. It was not unusual for chaperones to join families in the evening, but Beth's Mrs. MacKay was nowhere in sight. Nor had he seen her at the Collins's, he realized. During a lull in the conversation, he asked after her.

Beth opened her mouth to answer, but Helen Cameron cut in before she could. "Mrs. MacKay left to join relatives in Virginia once Anna-Elizabeth was settled," she primly informed James.

He gave Beth a sympathetic look. She was alone, then, with no one she knew to keep her company or to back her in a fight if she wished to pick one, and it had grown obvious the Camerons largely ignored her. He couldn't imagine travelling far from home where he knew only a single soul and feeling comfortable there. Beth had made such a move, though, and part of him wondered if she made any attempts to acclimate, to adjust to the strangers around her.

"Will any of your family come for the wedding?" he asked.

She didn't answer at first, and from the look she slid toward Helen, she apparently expected one of the Camerons to answer for her. Given what he'd observed that evening, he was surprised one of them didn't. When none of the others did so, she said, "Jorie and Arianna will come. I don't know if anyone else will."

"Who is Arianna?" James's mother asked.

"Anna-Elizabeth's youngest sister," Will said.

Will's mother frowned. "Will she be your witness, then?"

It was quite easy to see that would ruin her plans. James knew Helen exercised complete control over her family, and her husband was apparently content to let her do so. He liked Robert Cameron, always had, but he had never understood the leeway the man gave his wife. He had never much liked Will's mother, though. He watched Beth, noted her resignation in the wake of Helen's question.

Finally, Beth said quietly, "Arie is only seven. I do not intend to ask her. If Ghislaine were to come, I would want her for my witness."

"Ghislaine?" Will's mother asked, and James noted her voice rose sharply.

"My other sister," Beth explained. "I did write and invite Father, but he is unable to come."

James remembered then that her father was a British admiral. He wasn't surprised the man would miss his daughter's marriage. The British navy was keeping busy, and he doubted the King could spare an admiral even for the wedding of the man's daughter.

Will's mother moved the conversation to the guest list for the wedding, and Beth returned once more to staring at her hands folded in her lap. James presumed that was because she knew few of those named, though he thought it more likely that she had learned her wishes would not be heeded. Helen Cameron, after all, had broken her husband and her children of broaching any opinion of their own. Not only that, but James was certain she had Will's marriage planned to the tiniest detail, and a little thing like the wishes of the bride wouldn't sway her. Helen likely told Beth, had she dared to assert herself, that her unfamiliarity with local customs would embarrass not only the princess but the Cameron family. At the evening's close, James was more than glad to head for Oak Point, though a momentary dismay crossed Beth's face as they took their leave.

When they arrived home, James said goodnight to his mother and Katy, but he retired to his study downstairs while they went upstairs to their rooms. He poured a glass of rye and stood at the window, looked out into the darkness. He was worried about Beth, and he shouldn't be. The little princess was not his concern, but James disliked seeing someone mistreated. The way Will's family ignored her, failed, apparently, to even consider what she might wish for her own wedding, struck him as a kind of abuse. As he sipped his whiskey, it did occur to him that she was certainly capable of exerting her wishes if she so desired, but, he knew, women didn't always play fairly.

And who would support her? Will, presumably, but Will wasn't much of a fighter, especially not against his mother. James knew Will's mother, like his own, had been plotting his marriage most if not all of his life. Will was now marrying a foreigner, and that obviously didn't sit well with Helen Cameron. She wouldn't let the princess ruin her carefully made plans.

That, James acknowledged, as he splashed more rye in his glass, was what truly bothered him. He didn't know a single female who had not spent most of her life planning her eventual wedding in the most meticulous detail and who would not insist on getting her own way. Beth appeared absolutely apathetic about her future mother-in-law's plans. He wondered again why she was marrying Will. It was clear that rather than being happy about her marriage, Beth was merely resigned.

It wouldn't be the first time someone had sold a daughter off, but James figured a royal daughter could be bartered for a very dear price, so marrying her to Will made no sense. She could have been used to seal an alliance, head off an enemy, but, instead, she was allowed to marry an American planter, one who had apparently been her own choice. Will Cameron was wealthy, it was true, but her family could gain nothing by marrying her to Will unless there was some reason they needed her out of sight, out of mind. James rubbed the back of his neck. It simply made no sense. If her mother's life was not scandalous enough to banish her, what could Beth have done that would make them need to send her to America permanently?

-X-

James was surprised to the see the princess when he set off early the next morning for one of his other properties. She wore the claret riding habit again, and he remembered that other morning when they had ridden together. This morning Lem, his manservant, rode with him, but Beth was alone. Her mare danced sideways a moment as James reached her. "Your Highness," he said, tipping his hat.

"Mr. Wilkins," she said with a nod and then nodded in turn at Lem. His startled manservant looked away.

"Do you have an escort?" he asked, though he was certain she did not. He began to wonder if she chose to ride alone out of ignorance, arrogance, or a desire to get away from the Cameron family.

She blushed prettily. "No, Mr. Wilkins, I do not. I'm afraid I chose to run away this morning."

He smiled at her, perfectly able to understand the impulse, though it wasn't in the least humorous. "It's not wise to ride alone here," he said, echoing that morning at the Collins's. Beth's lips gave him a gentle smile. He hadn't found her a stupid woman, so he wondered why she persisted in ignoring warnings. Once again, he wondered if she had somehow compromised herself and if her family had sent her to South Carolina to escape a scandal. "Allow me to escort you back to Hart's Crossing."

She frowned. "Am I no longer on Will's property, then?"

"I'm afraid not," he answered. "This is my land."

"I do apologize for trespassing, Sir," she said.

He grinned at her prim tone, suspected it was not a sincere regret, but he played his part. "No apology necessary, Your Highness."

Lem dropped back as they rode, giving them some privacy. James asked her how she was. She looked at him but didn't answer. He saw the answer in her eyes, though. She looked disconsolate, and James felt an odd urge to protect her from whatever made her look that unhappy. He changed the subject, asked if she had heard from her family. She told him that she hadn't recently, but her brother and sister were expected in a few weeks. She asked after his mother and sister, and he told her they were well.

Beth was clearly cognizant of Lem behind them. She barely looked at James, and she kept the conversation on the social niceties. He followed her lead, despite knowing Lem would not gossip.

They came, eventually, to a lane James knew well. He drew up, and pointed down it with his quirt. "If you take that," he said quietly, "you'll arrive at the Cameron's stables."

She looked at him solemnly. "Thank you, Mr. Wilkins."

He nodded once more, and she turned her horse and urged it to a trot down the lane.

Once she was out of earshot, Lem rode closer. "That girl's trouble, Mr. James."

James ignored his manservant and rode on. He suspected Lem was absolutely right.

-X-

He saw her again the following week. He had ridden to a shaded, isolated spot on the river late in the afternoon hoping for a quick swim to wash the sweat off him, but someone had managed to get there before him. He saw the black mare first, and then he spied Beth. She sat beneath a tree, clad only in her chemise, and from her still-damp hair, he realized she had had the same idea he had. When she heard his horse break a branch, she startled, much as he had seen deer do, and she snatched up her dress and ducked behind the broad oak's trunk.

James walked his horse closer, his eyes on her pale face where she peeked around the trunk. "You do have a habit of going places alone."

He was close enough to see the color run up her face. "You do have a habit of finding me alone, Mr. Wilkins."

For a moment, he wondered if she intentionally put herself where he could. However, he had come here on a whim, not through any plan, so she could not have known he'd find her here.

"James," he said.

She nodded warily.

"How's the water?" he asked. She seemed startled by the question, and he grinned. This was wildly inappropriate, and not simply because she was barely dressed. They were completely alone in a spot where they could easily be found. He should have turned back, ridden elsewhere when he saw her black mare, but he had been curious.

"Cool," she said, and there was a hint a frost in her voice.

The shoulder he could see around the tree's trunk was bare, her chemise having slipped down her arm. Her damp hair appeared darker, redder, and hung loose. She looked even younger than he knew her to be except for her eyes. They were shadowed, ancient, but she didn't seem to fear him. There were many things to fear here, but James decided not to tell her about the alligators, rattlesnakes, or poisonous black water snakes with their pale, white mouths. No, she needed to consider other, more dangerous risks. He reached for the ties of his shirt and opened them. Her eyes followed his movements. Her breath quickened, and James realized from her avid stare that she found him as attractive as he found her.

She ducked further behind the tree's trunk when he dismounted, but her face remained where he could see it. "Mind if I bathe?" he asked, and she went crimson. He stepped closer to her tree, told himself he would only try and frighten her enough that she understood the risk she took coming out alone, especially to bathe.

Always an honest man, he admitted he was suddenly curious what he might have seen if he had come upon her earlier.

He slowly tied his horse and asked, "Why did you not have your maid draw a bath?"

"Mrs. Cameron says they can't do so as often as I prefer, so I—." She stopped abruptly, and James wished he could hear the rest of that.

"How often do you bathe?" he asked, curious. Few people he knew did so more than weekly at best. Most made do with what his nursemaid, to his mother's horror, used to call a whore's bath, a basin of water and washing the important bits between the major undertaking involved in a full bath. James imagined Beth's milky skin slick and shiny with soap and water, and his body reacted to the image.

"That's a rather impertinent question, don't you think, Mr. Wilkins?" she snapped.

"James," he said again, dropping his voice, and oddly glad to hear that bit of starch in her voice. He watched her, stepped closer to her tree. He didn't lean around to look at her, but he propped his shoulder against the trunk near where her hand rested against the bark.

Her tongue darted out. James watched the pink tip skim her lips and fought the urge to bend down and help her moisten them. "If you would be so kind," she began, and for a moment, he thought she was inviting him to do precisely that, "I would like to get dressed now."

He frowned, and then he realized she was asking him to give her some privacy. The breeze lifted some of her long hair, and James watched it flutter a moment. He reached out and caught a strand before he thought about what he was doing. It was fine, soft, silky between his fingers. He caught an unfamiliar floral scent. "James," she whispered, and her voice was so quiet it barely carried to him. He let her hair go and put his fingers over her hand, trapped it against the tree trunk.

Beth's eyes were deep fields of green, and he slipped the tips of his fingers between hers. Her fingers trembled beneath his. Her skin was soft, smooth, warm, and he lifted her hand from the bark. He stared at her as he turned her hand and placed his mouth on her palm. She whispered his name again, and he slid his tongue out and ran it over the spot where his open mouth rested against her skin.

This was dangerous, and he knew it. Everything he'd been taught, all the rules he'd been raised with told him to let her go, get back on his horse and ride away. She was marrying his best friend soon, and even if she weren't, even if she were his, it was not permissible to do this. The second he had seen her on the deck of _The Delilah_, he had been captivated by her, but seeing her like this, he was enthralled.

He lowered her hand, tugged her from behind the tree. She didn't resist, and James's mouth went dry when he saw her body through the thin, fine, linen. Her nipples pushed against the soft fabric, and he could see the shadow of her in the dappled sunlight. He pulled her closer, folded his arms around her, and when she lifted her face to him, he kissed her.

She had clearly never been properly kissed before, and he thought Will a complete fool for not having done at least that. He lifted his head and whispered, "Open your mouth, Beth." She looked up at him, puzzled, and he cupped her cheek, used his thumb to part her lips before fitting his own to hers. When he ran his tongue over her lower lip, she made a smothered moan, and her chin dropped, giving him access to the inner recesses of her mouth.

It didn't take long for Beth to catch on, to move her tongue and her mouth against his. He pulled her closer to him, and her arms crept around his waist. She flattened her hands against his back, and his blood ran hot through his veins as her breasts pushed against him. Their skin was separated by two layers of linen, and James was very aware of what faint barriers those were as he felt the heat of her through those thin layers of fabric.

His mouth traced over her cheek to her throat, and his hands moved down her body, cradled her closer. He kissed his way up the opposite side of her throat and sought her mouth once more. This time she didn't hesitate, and when he broke the kiss, it was her mouth moving over his skin, her tongue darting out now and then to taste him. His breathing was ragged, and he moved a hand to cup her breast. Her firm flesh filled his palm, and she moaned as he stroked over it, formed his hand to it.

The sound brought him to his senses. He had no right. No right at all. He sucked in air and held her to him a moment, willed himself to let her go. "Beth?" he asked on a ragged breath.

She lifted her head from his chest, and stared up at him. James watched the passion drain from her face to be replaced by embarrassment. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. "Get dressed," he whispered, and turned and walked away from her.

He stared down the water, thought about how anyone could have come across them—Will, slaves from either Hart's Crossing or Oak Point, someone in a boat on the river. Surely someone had noticed she was missing, was looking for her. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, once, twice. He fought the temptation to go back to her, to put her on his horse and take her somewhere they wouldn't be found.

His head jerked around when he heard her skirts brushing the grass behind him.

Beth was dressed once more, her hair queued back, but she held the bodice of her dress against her. "Mr. Wilkins," she said quietly, her face flaming, "I fear I need your assistance."

James frowned, but then she turned her back to him, and he realized she couldn't reach the last few buttons. He stepped toward her, gently moved the smooth braid of her hair over her shoulder, and pushed her buttons through their loops and wondered how she got them undone in the first place. He breathed in the scent of Beth and of whatever flower had scented her soap. He was tempted to slide his arms around her again, to bury his face in her hair or against her skin.

She stepped away from him and turned to face him again, but her eyes remained firmly fixed on the ground. "Thank you," she said so softly he barely heard her.

He reached out and cupped her chin, tilted her face up so he could see her. She looked miserable, and James hated that he had been the one to make her feel that way. "Beth," he said gently, "allow me to apologize for my behavior."

"The fault was mine," she said.

"No," he told her, "it was mine." Curious, he watched her reaction. She studied his face, hunted for something. He shifted his hold on her chin, slid his hand up to cup her cheek. "You are to marry Will, and I should not have touched you." He shouldn't be touching her now, he reminded himself. His thumb slid over her lower lip, noted it was slightly swollen from his kisses. Her eyes shifted once more, darkened with desire, and James knew that if he didn't send her away now, he wouldn't stop until she was screaming his name as he rode her. "Go home, Beth. Go back to Hart's Crossing, and stay there."

-X-

After a sleepless night, James decided he had business in Charles Town that couldn't wait. He told his mother after breakfast he needed to make the trip. Katy wanted to go as well, so after he informed his overseer he would be away several days on business, he waited impatiently for her and their mother to prepare for the journey. He had spent the night tormented by memories of how Beth had felt in his arms, of the taste of her, of her scent. He decided a night or two with his mistress would erase the memory.

After he settled Katy and his mother in their townhouse, he visited a tavern where he could find a boy who would carry a message to Theresa.

His mistress was a few years older than he. She was the widow of a wealthy merchant, and she oversaw her late husband's affairs. Nominally, she had a manager for that, but James had noticed she made the decisions. The businesses prospered, but James wasn't surprised. Theresa was an astute businesswoman, and at least once he had successfully taken her advice about a venture.

He met with his attorney, ordered some needed supplies, and then had supper with his family before he left for the evening. Theresa's butler opened the door to him, and he was shown upstairs to the sitting room she kept next to her bedroom. It occurred to him, as he sat back with a glass of whiskey, that only a few weeks ago he had planned to end his understanding with her, but here he was, intent on using her to purge Beth's ghost.

Theresa was an attractive woman, and James looked at her appreciatively as she entered the room. She wore something thin and semi-transparent that exposed a lot of her lush breasts. He was strangely unmoved by the sight. Beth in her chemise, on the other hand, had set his body on fire. Theresa merely earned an acknowledgement that she was lovely. It was the first time he had seen his mistress ready for him that his body had not snapped to attention.

She slid astride his thighs and took his mouth hungrily. James kissed her back, but his heart wasn't in it. More importantly, his body, apparently, wasn't going to rise to the occasion. Theresa tried, and James appreciated the effort she made, but she finally sat back and turned her dark eyes on him. Performance had never been an issue, so he felt more than a little embarrassed as she coolly surveyed him. "Is this because I asked if you had thought about marriage?"

The last time they had been together, she had asked him if he intended to marry, had asked if he had found a candidate, and then asked if he had considered a widow. He had known she was fishing, seeing what her chances were, but even if he had truly loved her, he would never have installed her as the mistress of Oak Point. Theresa's lovers were legion. He was but one of many, and they had never had an exclusive agreement. That had never especially bothered him, probably because he took pleasure from their arrangement even as he had made it plain that it was never going to be more than what it was.

"No," he said gruffly, though he had nearly seized on her question as an explanation. He wouldn't be the first man to balk at the idea of matrimony.

She slid off his lap and settled herself on a chair next to the sofa where he sat. She poured herself a whiskey and crossed her legs. "Then what's wrong, James?"

"I think," he said, sitting up and straightening his clothes, "that our time is at an end."

He faced her, felt he owed her the truth, but he was unwilling to hand her a weapon. Women in her position often exploited certain kinds of information, and James had no desire to have Will learn of James's interest in his fiancée.

As he watched, Theresa sipped her whiskey and said, "I admire your courtesy, James." He raised a brow. "Most men either send me a note or simply never return."

Truthfully, he had intended to do the latter, to simply fail to turn up again. He eyed her body, willed himself to respond, but he didn't, at least not until an image of Beth as he'd seen her the day he kissed her slid into his head when Theresa asked if he had found a bride. She gave him a knowing smile at his blush. "Who is she?"

"Actually," he said, "I've only just met her." He declined to tell her who the other woman was, and she stopped prying when it became apparent that he wouldn't tell her.

Finally, she gave him a warm smile and said, "Well, then, I wish you luck, James."

They talked about mutual friends a while, about the war, and James listened as she shared gossip about acquaintances. He declined a refill when his glass was empty. He stood to go, and Theresa stood with him. He reached into his coat, but she stopped him, shook her head sadly. "Keep it," she said softly, so he withdrew his hand. She leaned in and kissed him gently. "Be happy, James."

On his way home, he wondered what had happened. He had just left a willing woman, a woman whom he should have been able to bed without complications but one who, when it came down to it, he had not wanted. Theresa's lush body, dark hair and dark eyes no longer appealed to him, not when he found himself burning for a tiny doll of a woman, one who was Theresa's exact physical opposite and one who was completely out of his reach.

_But not forever, _he thought. When she had given Will his heir, she could be his then. They all pretended such liaisons didn't happen amongst them, but two of James's previous mistresses had been married women.

The next night he accompanied his mother and sister to a ball at the Graham's, and he eyed the young, marriageable women present. He talked to a few, danced with several, but even as he determined it was time he found a bride of his own so that he wouldn't covet Will's, he failed to find even a single female who engaged his attention quite the way Beth did.

When Katy had gone up to bed afterward, his mother had taken a seat in his study and said, "Well, Will's engagement seems to be having a positive effect on you."

He handed his mother a glass of sherry and picked up his own whiskey. "How's that?"

"That's the first time I've ever seen you actively engaged in looking for a bride." She sipped her sherry before adding, "The youngest Haynes girl would make you a good wife."

"Her eyes are too close together," he said absently.

His mother snorted. "Gabriel Fauberg's oldest girl came out this last season."

James stared at his glass trying to place the girl. He finally did, the slim, bashful creature with the faint French accent. "Dark hair and eyes, rather tall?"

She nodded. "She has her mother's grace and beauty, and her height would complement your own."

He made a face. "She's empty-headed."

His mother's lips twitched. "Granted, and I would rather not have halfwits for grandchildren. I noticed you speaking to Luiza D'Oliviera."

James knew where this would go. He'd long liked Luiza, but he wasn't going to marry her, and not for the reason his mother was likely about to raise. "She's a nice girl, intelligent, and from a good family."

"She's a Jewess, James," his mother chided. "It's bad enough Will's marrying a Catholic." She finished her drink and sat her empty glass on the table next to her. "There will be other opportunities to wife hunt," she said, "but I am pleased you've begun to think about your duty."

He stood when she did and bent and kissed her cheek. She bid him goodnight, and when she was gone, he splashed another measure of whiskey in his glass. His duty. Perhaps if he found a wife, he could forget the woman who would be Will's.

-X-

As Beth's marriage moved slowly closer, he didn't forget her. Instead, he dreamed of her. He woke in the night or early morning in a sweat and sometimes rock hard having seen her naked in his arms. He went back to the river one afternoon, but she wasn't there. When he saw her next, it was from a distance, and she rode with a groom and Honoria. Apparently, she had finally taken his admonishments to heart. He should be glad, but he wasn't. He would give anything to catch her alone once more and see if he could purge her from his thoughts.

-X-

One afternoon, Will rode over for a visit. James was in the fields when Will stopped his horse nearby.

His old friend dismounted and shook hands. "James, I wondered if you might have time for a ride."

There was still work to do, but he excused himself from his overseer and mounted his horse. He and Will chased down the lane toward the river as they had often done as boys, slowed only when they reached the trees near the river bank and turned their horses to follow the river's course. "Clearly you've got something on your mind," James said. He certainly had something on his when he recognized the tree where he had discovered Beth in her chemise.

Will laughed. "My mother pointed out to me that I had failed to secure my witness for my wedding," he said. "I wondered if you might help me find someone who would stand up for me."

James pretended concern. He knew what Will was there to ask, knew he would agree, but he also knew he would rather do anything than stand beside his old friend while Will married Beth. "Well, Will, that may take some doing. Have any distant relatives outside South Carolina who don't really know you?"

Will laughed again. "Sorry, old man, but all my people are here. Seriously, James, I assumed you'd stand up for me, and when Mother started in this morning, I realized I hadn't asked. I'm asking."

"I'd be honored," James said, feeling anything but.

"Good," Will said. "Honoria shall stand up for Anna-Elizabeth, so you'll be her escort."

James almost objected at that point. Honoria was their mothers' favorite when it came to matching a Cameron daughter to James. After two social events where his mother had found no suitable potential brides for her son, she had begun telling James that Honoria might best suit him. He had tensed to stop the shudder of revulsion he felt at the idea. He supposed, though, that he could put up with the girl for one day. "Has your princess not met anyone else whom she could ask?"

Will frowned at him, clearly puzzled by the question James asked. "Why would she not ask Honoria?"

Shaking his head, James said, "Why would she not, indeed?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 3**

When the night of Will's engagement ball arrived, James found himself watching Beth carefully. She was painfully polite to everyone she met, but she said neither said nor did anything beyond what that politeness dictated. James, unable to watch any longer, took himself out into the slightly cooler night air for a long walk and a quiet cigar. He was surprised, then, sometime later, to come across Beth sitting alone on a bench tucked into a quiet, far recess of the garden. Like many such places, she was hidden from the curious eyes of others out for a simple stroll around the Cameron's large, meandering gardens, though she was fortunate a pair of lovers looking for privacy hadn't found her. Like many planter's gardens—those who had elaborate English-style gardens, anyway—there were always hidden places.

She looked fearful when he first walked around a wall of hedge, but she quickly masked it. That reaction dismayed him. He wondered if he really had frightened her that afternoon by the river. Beth stood, smoothed the fashionable pink gown she wore. It was not a hue that suited her coloring. James couldn't imagine what had possessed her to wear it. Perhaps she believed it would make herself unattractive—not, he thought, that she could manage that no matter how she might try.

"I ran away," she blurted, coming to her feet and breathing hard as though she had, indeed, run. "I couldn't stand it any longer."

James silently watched her fight for control of her feelings, and while he was sympathetic, it disturbed him to see her lose even a little bit of control. Almost every time he had seen her, she had remained tightly in command of her emotions. He could, though, understand how she might feel overwhelmed now. She was, after all, surrounded by strangers, many of whom gossiped incessantly and unkindly about her. Admittedly, she had been among them long enough they should no longer be strangers, but he knew she had formed no apparent friendships. "You can't stay here. You should return to the ball."

He watched her control her breathing, watched her struggle to calm herself, and then, to his horror, she burst into tears. Somehow, James had not thought her the sort to do so, but she was female, and she was clearly under great strain. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief. She took it, sank back on the bench, and buried her face in the linen. She didn't sob, or if she did, she made no noise. James found that incredibly curious. He'd yet to meet a female before now who didn't wail loudly and long when she was overset.

"Beth," he said softly, and she raised her face just enough he could see her eyes above the fabric she still held over her lower face. Something twisted inside him. "You cannot do this," he said. Not one of his more intelligent statements, he supposed, and he considered what it might be for which he admonished her

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. "I cannot do what, James?"

_Marry Will_, he wanted to say. That was at the heart of his reaction, he realized. She was completely wrong for Will, but it was her decision to make—and she had already done exactly that. "You must go back in," he told her instead, mainly because he recognized a desire to hold her, comfort her, but for both their sakes, he had to get her away from him.

"I can't," she said, and her voice shook. "I can't take another moment of being picked apart, looked at like—like—like something they've scraped off their boots or found under an overturned rock. I can't bear another second of being ignored like I'm a simpleton."

He sympathized, for that was exactly how she'd been treated. "Beth—"

She glared at him then, dropped her hands to her lap and firmed her jaw. In that moment, as her spine snapped straight and her chin rose, he felt his body catch fire. He liked Beth best when she showed that inner strength of character. "Do not tell me, James, that I am imagining it."

"No, Beth, you aren't," he agreed, "but that's the way things are."

"I don't like the way things are," she said, and he noticed the tears were gone, replaced by anger. "You Americans," and there was a distinct sneer there that made his jaw tighten, not least because he was a subject of the English crown, "you go on and on about how things are different here, but they're no different here than they are in Europe—or anywhere else, for that matter."

He raised a brow at her vehemence. "You Europeans taught us."

Her shoulders sagged suddenly, and she dropped her eyes to the ground. He heard a soft sniffle. Just as he was about to say something, she straightened her shoulders again and swallowed. She wiped her face once more, and she put on what he was beginning to think of as her princess face, the impassive mask she'd mostly shown the rest of South Carolina. "You are correct," she said softly, her voice carefully regulated once more. "I have to go back and make the best of things."

As he watched, she stood gracefully, smoothed the skirts of the awful dress she wore and lifted her chin. She inclined her head slightly and stepped forward. He should have gotten out of the Princess's way, but instead he stepped into her path. She looked up at him disconcerted, and he leaned down and took her mouth. Their bodies strained against one another, and James's arms went around her as he devoured her mouth. She clung to him in return.

This was what he wanted, he knew, not those empty female shells in all their finery he'd find inside the ballroom.

Beth met his mouth as hungrily as he took hers.

He had the urge to ask her to go with him, to leave and leave immediately, but she tore her mouth from his and looked up at him. He could see her features clearly in the moonlight. She reached up and drew his head back down, but this kiss was different, gentle, rather sweet. When their mouths separated, she opened her eyes slowly. "Please release me, James."

His arms tightened a moment, though she made no move to push him away or even to release him. "Beth—"

She stopped him. "Don't," she breathed. She leaned up and took his mouth again for a moment. "We cannot."

He watched her the rest of the night, watched as she moved through the dance figures, spoke only when spoken to, and generally served as an ornament for Will. She was the perfect model of what their society claimed to expect in a woman, and James hated every second of it. It had never seemed so wrong before to watch a vibrant, intelligent woman pretend to be otherwise. The only moment she showed any animation the entire evening was when one of Benjamin Martin's children came tearing through the ballroom after another child James didn't recognize. For a moment the Princess smiled, but it was fleeting, gone in an instant.

When the toasts were made to Will and the princess, the corners of her mouth trembled, turned up, but it was no true smile. James found himself unable to drink as he watched her go through the motions.

-X-

James thought about her more often in the next week and a half than he should, though he did see her but once. She rode past him with Honoria Cameron and one of the Cameron grooms along the lane to Oak Point. He was certain he had not imagined her sidelong look at him. He was bare-chested, worked with two of the slaves to pull the stump of an old oak that had been struck by lightning the night before. He thought she looked thinner, paler, and he reminded himself that it was no concern of his.

When he arrived home for supper, his mother and Katy told him all about the afternoon visit. There was no room at the Cameron's for the Princess's family, and she and Honoria had come to ask if the Wilkinses would be so kind as to put them up. James cut his mother off before she could launch into what he felt certain would be a tirade along the lines of how-dare-she and the-nerve-of-her. Personally, James thought it showed appalling manners on the Cameron's part not to offer a place to Beth's family where she would have them close by, so he said, "Certainly they may stay at Oak Point."

His mother looked rather like a landed fish, and his sister was going an interesting shade of puce. James put his spoon in his soup and decided he didn't care. He was master of this house, and he figured Beth's family might need whatever kindness could be afforded them. He swallowed his mouthful of soup and assured his mother he would let Will know the du Mares, or Ramsdells, or whatever the hell their names were, were welcome in his home.

So it was that three weeks before the wedding he was once more on the dockside, this time with Will, Beth, Honoria and Katy to welcome _Regalia_ and Beth's brother and sister. The brother was of middling height and so like Beth there was no mistaking the relationship. The sister, though, was a lively little blonde with violet eyes. James took an immediate liking to young Princess Arianna. He wondered if Beth had been like this engaging sprite when she had been a child. The brother rode with Will and James while the women and child rode in the carriage. The boy was a rather pretty lad, and James thought Beth might have taken lessons in how to be reserved from him. He introduced himself as Joran Ramsdell, though the irrepressible Princess Arianna had said to just call him Jorie.

As they rode, the boy eyed James suspiciously. He didn't say much on the journey, but to be fair, neither did Will nor James. There was no guided tour this time, and James kept his thoughts to himself, not trusting himself not to ask why the boy's family was marrying his sister to Will.

Will, Beth, and Honoria stayed to dinner that evening, and James found himself with Beth seated to his left and the Princess Arianna to his right at table. His mother had clearly decided that if he was going to open their home to the foreigners, and, worse, allow a child at table, then he could cope with them. He noticed she placed the prince, Joran, to her right and next to Katy. Princess Arianna kept up an amusing chatter when she wasn't asking questions about South Carolina and America, but Beth quietly picked at her food.

As was the custom, he, Will, and Prince Joran stood while the women left them for the parlor. James asked if the other two would mind adjourning to his study, and when they were all seated with a glass of whiskey and Will had launched into a story from his trip overseas, James watched the boy. He had a hard time thinking of Ramsdell as a man since the boy looked far younger than Beth did. He had grey rather than green eyes and blonder hair than his sister. His face was curiously soft and rounded, and James, who had had a bit more wine than he usually would, fleetingly thought he could have passed for a girl.

When Will's story wound down, James looked up from his glass to find the prince studying him. That serious gray gaze disconcerted him. One of the servants entered quietly and refilled their glasses, and Ramsdell took the opportunity to say quietly, "My sister says you've been kind to her, and I thank you for that."

James had no answer, and it was probably just as well. "Her Highness mentioned that you and your younger sister were the only members of your family who would attend the wedding."

Ramsdell nodded. "Sadly, our mother has been ill, and our father cannot neglect his duty. I would have come alone, but it seemed best to bring Arianna."

He would have asked why, but Will entered the conversation then. "What about Ghislaine?"

The boy sipped his whiskey. "She . . . she was concerned that her presence might exacerbate Anna-Elizabeth's situation."

James knew what the boy was getting at, but it still surprised James that Will looked confused. "What does that mean?"

It interested James that the boy suddenly wore a version of Beth's princess face. "I understand that my sister has, apparently, made what some of your neighbors consider social faux pas. Ghislaine was worried that as the heiress to the Falken title, her presence would simply make things worse for our sister, especially if they knew who she was." The young man suddenly looked into his glass. "Ghislaine rarely travels outside our homeland because so few people understand her position."

When they rejoined the ladies, Arianna plopped herself down next to James and fired barrage after barrage of questions at him. He answered her easily, aware that his mother, sister, and Honoria were growing more and more irritated as the little princess monopolized his attention. Anna-Elizabeth finally stood and said quietly, "Why do you not show me where you will be staying, Arie?" and the sisters excused themselves.

James found he enjoyed talking to the animated girl princess more than he did those remaining in the parlor. Honoria and Katy engaged Beth's brother in conversation, and James listened with only half an ear, taken with the idea of Beth upstairs in the family quarters. As her absence lengthened, he assumed she was putting her sister to bed. He wondered how long it might be before she would put her own children to bed—assuming she didn't leave it as so many women did to servants. Somehow, he didn't think Beth was the kind of woman who would allow someone else to tuck her children in at night if she were available for the task.

He chastised himself for those thoughts. He hardly knew the woman, after all, and he was likely only transferring what he believed a wife and mother should do onto Beth.

When she quietly returned, James stood with the other two men and watched her cross to sit beside Will, and he tried to not resent that she could not take the seat beside him vacated by her little sister.

After Will, his sister, and the princess left, James's mother and sister excused themselves and retired. James found himself offering the prince another drink. They returned to James's study, and he splashed whiskey in two glasses before handing one to the younger man.

The lad took a seat and crossed his legs before turning a thoughtful gaze on James. "My sister is not happy," he said quietly, and James watched the boy's brows lift.

"I wouldn't know," he said, convinced it would be dangerous to agree—though he did agree.

Ramsdell sipped his whiskey. "I did not want Anna-Elizabeth to come here."

"Then why did you give permission for her to marry Will?" James sipped his own whiskey and thought he should have kept his mouth shut.

The other man studied his glass. "I didn't have the right to deny her," he said quietly. "My mother saw a pretty face, a wealthy man who could keep Anna-Elizabeth comfortably. Most of all, she saw a man who would take my sister away from very painful memories, so she gave her to him."

James should have stopped his question, but it was out before his brain caught up with his mouth. "What painful memories?"

Ramsdell tilted his head. "That's Anna's story to tell." Ramsdell changed the subject then, asked about Oak Point, and James told him about the property. When prompted, he talked about his family history. It wasn't until he had retired to his room that it dawned on James that the questions Beth's brother asked would have been more appropriately addressed to Will about Hart's Crossing. James supposed, as he shed his clothes and crawled into his bed, that Ramsdell had already asked them.

The next morning he took the time to escort Ramsdell and the Princess Arianna to the Cameron plantation. He went inside for a little piece, but he soon excused himself to return to his own property and the work that awaited him.

That set the pattern of his days until the wedding, though once he was sure Ramsdell could find the way, he no longer escorted him and his younger sister. James had already decided it would be better if he kept his distance from the princess. He heard from Katy, who accompanied them more often than not, that Beth was proving more difficult about some of the details than Will and his family had expected. Apparently, Beth refused to wear more fashionable wedding clothes than those she had arrived with. James failed to see the point, and Katy was quite put out with him, exclaimed impatiently that "she will embarrass them, James!"

In his view, a gown was a gown, and as long as it covered what it should, he simply couldn't see what the problem was.

The night before the wedding, he mounted his horse and rode over to Hart's Crossing for dinner instead of riding in the carriage with his mother, sister, and the prince and little princess. Afterward, he and some of Will's friends would celebrate Will's last night of freedom with the groom at a nearby tavern. During dinner, Beth looked wan, tired, and sadder than he had ever seen her. James wondered if she had second thoughts about marrying Will, and he found he couldn't exactly blame her. She had come face to face with who Will was, and much as James loved his friend, he was not blind to his faults. Marriage to Will would eventually break her, and James's concern for her was on this account. James thought it a shame that she would have to disguise her intelligence in order to survive joining the Cameron family. After all, Helen could not tolerate an intelligent woman who might dare challenge her as the family's matriarch. James watched Beth where she sat next to her sister and wondered if a quick pregnancy and the distraction of a child of her own might not be best for her.

As he thought it, though, he frowned, disliked the idea that Beth might spend her days with only her children to love her. He blinked. He barely knew the woman, and he had certainly never been so concerned about the welfare of any woman to whom he was not related as he was about Beth's. She smiled at her little sister, who had whispered something and now grinned unrepentantly, and when she laughed, the light sound did something to him. He felt the desire to join them, to touch Beth, to lean in and kiss her. He found himself wondering what it would be like to be the man she would meet in front of the reverend tomorrow.

He studied her. She liked him, he was certain of it, and he was tempted to draw her aside somehow, suggest she leave with him, elope, and that shocked him to his core. Throughout his life, he had mostly done the things expected of him, but this, this particular impulse was outside the realm of acceptable behavior. Making matters worse, it was his best friend whose betrayal he contemplated. The scandal would drive a wedge between their families, but the scandal would die down. Beth might find several doors closed to her, James might pay business penalties, but he would not expect her to hide who she truly was the way she had done more and more as she was subjugated to the will of the Camerons. As he watched, she hugged Arianna to her and rested her cheek against the child's head. As Beth met his eyes, James wished she were his, wished it was their child she held so fondly.

James tore his gaze from her before he betrayed what he was thinking.

It was past time to find a wife of his own, he reminded himself. Once Will was married, James would devote himself to that particular task, he vowed.

When the men adjourned to a tavern to mourn Will's loss of freedom, James was subdued. Somehow, he had fallen in love with his best friend's fiancée. He would stand beside his old friend as he married the woman James now knew he wanted for his own. Because he was an honorable man, he would do his duty, would wish them well, and he would hope like hell Will came to understand what a treasure he had.

-X-

The next morning, James dressed in his best clothes and escorted his mother, sister, and Ramsdell to Hart's Crossing. Beth had, apparently, kept Arianna with her the night before. Ramsdell wore a military uniform, his hair in an odd, elaborate queue. They found the Cameron home in a mild form of chaos. The wedding would take place on the grounds of the plantation rather than their local church. Because Beth was a Catholic, the priest had refused to marry them in the Anglican parish church the Cameron's attended unless she converted, and she firmly refused to do so.

As he strode into the entryway, Arianna came down the stairs dressed in a charming dark blue dress. She was cross, and when she saw James, she went straight to him. The girl didn't stand on ceremony, didn't even acknowledge his bow. She planted her feet directly in front of his, balled her fists onto her hips, and tilted her head up to see him. "They're trying to make Beth wear some ugly yellow rags that will make her look dreadful."

James could just imagine. The other thing he had noticed about the relationship between Beth and her new family was how hard the Cameron women worked to make her less attractive. James didn't think it would be possible to make Beth ugly, but he granted they could minimize her charms.

"Are they winning the battle?" he asked.

Arianna dimpled. "Oh, hell, no," she said, and clapped her tiny hands over her mouth.

James bit back a smile, lifted a brow. "Would you care to amend that, Your Highness?"

The little princess's eyes danced. "Beth has yet to be persuaded not to wear the gown she brought to be married in," she said in a prim little voice.

He wondered again if Beth had been like this as a child, but somehow he suspected not.

"Her gown is the same blue silk that represents her title and lands, which is a color almost as important as the du Mare scarlet in our country. She can't get married in scarlet, so she chose the blue." Arianna scowled up the stairs behind her a moment. "_They _say she can't wear the blue because that Honoria is wearing a blue gown. Hers is just a pale blue and isn't the same thing at all. They also don't like Beth's petticoat, say it isn't at all fashionable and will embarrass Will." Princess Arianna then narrowed those remarkable eyes of hers and gave him a thoughtful look. James grew uneasy under her sharp, measuring stare. "Do you have a pistol?"

Amused, though he suspected he shouldn't be since she looked completely serious, James put on an equally grave expression. "I do, but I didn't bring it with me." It was only a little lie. He had two in his saddlebag.

"Pity," Arianna sighed and dropped her hands to her sides before earnestly telling him, "I would like to shoot one of them if they make Beth cry."

Part of him deeply sympathized with her wish. "Can you shoot?" he asked.

She gave him a disgusted look, narrowed her eyes, and once again planted her fists on her hips. "I am a du Mare," she said haughtily. "Of course, I can."

Staring down at her, resisting the urge to laugh, he hoped that Arianna managed to hold on to some of her arrogance and self-assurance when she was Beth's age. He crouched down and met her eyes. "I tell you what," he said quietly, "if they make her cry, I'll find you a pistol."

The young princess dimpled. "I like you, James Wilkins."

"I like you, too, Your Highness," he returned.

She eyed him seriously a moment. "I would like for you to call me Arie," she said with a quiet dignity.

He had already figured out that being invited to use a shortened form of the names of Beth's family members was a privilege accorded to few. He regretted that he could not ask her to call him James in return. Arianna's look turned sympathetic, as if she understood his thoughts, and then she looked around. "You're Beth's friend," she said softly when her now-troubled gaze returned to his. "Promise me you will take care of her when we're gone."

Beth had said the child was seven, but the look she gave him belonged to someone much older. "Shouldn't you ask that of Will?"

Arianna's brows rose. "My mother says men never take care of women, except when they may gain something for themselves from doing so. I think she's wrong." The girl frowned a moment. "Well, I think she may be right where Will's concerned, but I think you will make sure nothing bad happens to Beth."

Ramsdell came into sight then, and James stood, bowed.

"I hope my sister has not been trying your patience," the younger man said.

James assured him that was not the case and then excused himself to find Will. As he made his way along the upstairs gallery, he heard Helen Cameron berating Beth about the gown, but he tuned it out, reminded himself it was none of his business. He found Will in his room. His old friend lay on his bed clad in his trousers and shirt. Closing the door quietly behind him, James grinned. Will sat up and grinned back.

"Funny," Will said, "but somehow I always thought you'd beat me to the altar."

As he dropped into the chair near the window, James eyed his friend. "Not sure I plan to get married," James said.

Will's grin broadened, though there was an edge to it. "Your mama and mine have been comparing notes, old man. I suspect your dance card is already lined up with eligible young ladies."

"Well," he grinned, "so long as I get at least one with the bride, I think I can survive all the scheming mamas present."

Will's grin faded a moment. "Is there something I should know, James?"

He scowled at Will, vowed to better guard his tongue. "No. I think you're well aware you're the luckiest bastard in South Carolina."

Will chuckled. "I am, aren't I?" he asked smugly. "And tonight, I'm the lucky bastard who gets to bed Anna-Elizabeth."

For a moment, James wondered if Will knew, if he had guessed how James felt about his bride. Then he was fighting to hide a sudden resentment that his old friend would have what he wanted for himself. "You are, indeed, a fortunate man," he observed, "but then so am I. _I_ get to charm every eligible female in attendance without interference from you since you, my friend, will be firmly shackled to the princess."

There was something odd about Will's smile, but James shoved the thought aside. It wouldn't do to dwell on what he couldn't change. Within a matter of hours, Beth would be Will's wife and beyond James's reach. Will, on the other hand, would only have to pass a further few hours before he could take her.

They talked about old times, old scrapes, about the war, and about James's prospects in finding a bride. Will, like his mother, advanced Honoria as a suitable wife.

James stretched his legs and crossed his booted feet. "I mean no disrespect to your sister, Will, but it would be a little like marrying Katy."

He didn't think he imagined the odd look that crossed Will's face, and for a moment he wondered if his friend had second thoughts, if Will wished he had chosen a local girl for a bride. "Not into bedding your sister, I take it."

The disgust on his face must have amused Will, for the other man laughed.

Eventually, Will's father came to the room. He carried a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. They toasted Will, and Robert then turned his attention to James. "So when will we be celebrating your marriage, James?"

He shot a grin at Will. "Now see what you started?" James growled at his oldest friend. "They'll hound me to death until I leap off the same ledge." As he sipped his whiskey, it occurred to him that he would willingly jump if Beth were his prize.

By the time they needed to go down for the ceremony, they were all a little foxed. James thought he just might manage this after all, but when he looked up to see Beth walking toward them on her brother's arm, he indulged the brief fantasy that he was the man whom she approached. She had clearly won her battle, for she wore a gown the color of blue smoke, not yellow. It was form-fitting, the skirts were narrow, and the bodice was bordered with silver embroidery. It suited her, surprisingly set those green eyes of hers off, he noticed as she looked his way for a moment before Ramsdell placed her hand in Will's.

Within half an hour, she was Will's wife, and James played his part, smiled and congratulated the both of them. Beth's sister, little Arianna, tugged his sleeve and asked if he would kiss Beth, too. Will indulgently gave his permission, and James's lips touched her cheek briefly.

It was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, not catching her mouth with his.

Later, Arianna plopped down next to him on a bench in the garden and said, "I wish you had married Beth."

He looked at her mutinous face. "Your sister loves Will."

"Will's not a nice man. You are."

He tilted his head and looked at the little girl beside him. He would rather she had denied Beth loved Will, he thought, but that was a dangerous thought. "Will's nice." Arianna stared at him, and he raised his wine glass to his lips, sipped the liquid inside.

"He's not nice to Beth," she declared angrily. "He hurts her."

James didn't believe that for a moment, but he wasn't going to argue with the little girl beside him. His eyes sought Beth where she stood stiffly beside her new husband.

Arianna tugged his sleeve, and he turned his attention back to her. "Will you promise me you will help her if she needs you?"

The girl had tears in her violet eyes, and James knew she believed what she had told him. It wouldn't hurt to make the promise, he thought, if it made her feel better. Besides, if Beth truly needed him, he knew he would help her. "I promise," he said quietly.

She nodded firmly once. "Good. I don't want to leave Beth here with no one to look out for her."

There was food and alcohol, and James indulged, more in the latter than the prior. When it was time for his dance with Beth, he briefly considered backing out. As he took his place, he reminded himself that she was not his, but then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes as they began moving through the figures. "James," she whispered as their hands met and they passed closely together.

He looked away, hoped the dance would be a short one. When he looked back, he saw that she stared at his waistcoat. He couldn't stand it. "Beth," he breathed, and her eyes lifted to his as they came close to one another again. "If you ever need me, you need only ask," he whispered quickly, but she looked away again.

"Thank you," she said, and looked back at him, with a faint smile.

The music ended, and he bowed. For the first time in their acquaintance, she made an obeisance to him, dropping into a curtsey that was inappropriate given their respective stations. James was well aware of the honor she did him. "Thank you for the dance, Mrs. Cameron," he said as Will came to claim his bride. He heard her husband hiss something as he moved her away.

He danced with Honoria, with several eligible heiresses he'd known his entire life, and in between he drank.

Robert joined him where he leaned against a tree smoking a cigar and offered him a bed for the night, but James knew he would be put in the room he usually used when he stayed with the Camerons. It connected to Will's dressing room. The last thing he wanted was to have to listen to Will bed his wife. As a result, when his mother and Katy were ready to leave, he mounted his horse and followed them home.

-X-

Neither he nor Ramsdell escaped the ill effects from their drinking at Will's wedding. The next day both men stayed inside and pursued quiet activities. Arianna, too, was subdued, and James was glad. He wasn't sure he could have borne her chatter. Even more, he could not have taken her earnest pleas for her sister.

The Ramsdells would soon board a ship, he reminded himself, and he could put Beth out of mind more easily with her brother and sister gone from his home. He resolved once more to do his duty, to find a suitable wife, to begin a family, and to let whatever it was he thought he felt for Beth fade.


	4. Chapter 4

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 4**

Beth's family left within days of her marriage. James missed the lively Princess Arianna, but he didn't miss the constant reminder of Beth. He devoted himself to work, left the house early and returned late. His mother cornered him in his room one night and asked what was wrong with him. He told her curtly that nothing was the matter. She crossed her arms and told him she planned to take Katy into Charles Town soon and asked when he would be able to accompany them. He told her he'd be ready whenever she was. They settled on two days hence, agreed on a time, and as she crossed his room to leave him to his rest, she turned back to him and said, "We're expected at Hart's Crossing for dinner tomorrow."

James realized his mother had neatly trapped him. He'd begged off each time his mother and sister visited the Camerons since Will and Beth's marriage a little over two months earlier. He had not been ready to face Beth and see her with her husband. He nodded at his mother and resolved to go, see that Beth was happy, and move forward with his own life.

Only Beth appeared no happier than she had been before her marriage. She was polite, reserved, and while that was normal for the woman leading up to her marriage, it wasn't for the woman with whom James had ridden at the Collinses or whom he had met beside that spreading oak next to the river. Will seemed happy, but his wife simply occupied space. No one spoke to her, and she spoke to no one. While that was little different than the way things were before they married, James got a feeling that something had shifted in her. When the men rejoined the women, James noticed she swallowed thickly and stiffened when Will seated himself beside her. If anything, she looked less comfortable with Will than she had before their marriage.

It occurred to him that Beth had likely been a virgin. He had heard that many wives did not enjoy their duties at first, and he supposed she and Will were still getting used to one another.

Dismissing her withdrawn unhappiness as either his imagination or wishful thinking on his part, he sat quietly, counted the minutes until he could politely leave.

-X-

James next encountered the Camerons in Charles Town the last week in November. His mother had wanted to do some shopping, and he had some business to attend to. His mother had invited Will's family to dinner, and once more Beth sat quietly and did not participate in the conversations around her.

When the social season started in Charles Town after the New Year, James saw Beth at the balls they both attended. She sat with the matrons, danced only with her husband and moved stiffly through the figures. At dinners, she was silent, never met anyone's eyes and ate little.

James considered looking for a new mistress, but the truth was, he simply wasn't interested.

There was only one woman he wanted, and he couldn't have her.

His mother made sure he met any number of marriageable girls, but when he failed to be interested in any of them, she finally asked in desperation if he had considered widows, something she had long discouraged. He studied her, realized she was serious, and gently explained to his mother that he had not yet met the woman he wished to marry.

It was the first time in his adult life he'd ever told his mother an outright lie.

For the next few months he existed, encountered Will and his wife and the other Camerons socially and in his homes. He gradually found it easier to face them, learned to accept that Beth was Will's wife and that those two times he had held her, kissed her, were aberrations.

Will and Beth had been married not quite a year the night James sat brooding in the parlor at Hart's Crossing with the others idly listening to Maria play her way through a dull piece on the pianoforte. It was one of the rare occasions when his mother and Katy had another commitment so were absent. James had thought to send his regrets, but mindful of growing comments about his increased lack of sociability, he had gone anyway. In addition to James, several of the Hendersons, the family who lived on the other side of Hart's Crossing from Oak Point, were in attendance. The oldest Henderson son gave Will a sly look and then asked why he hadn't managed to impregnate his wife yet. Beth dropped her head to stare at her fingers in her lap, but her face flamed with mortification, and James's jaw clenched.

Will put his hand on Beth's, and James noticed she flinched slightly when her husband touched her. "Anna-Elizabeth and I are in no hurry," Will said lazily, though James read his tone as smugness.

Michael Henderson had drunk a considerable amount of brandy before they rejoined the ladies, but James did not see that as an excuse for what the other man then said: "Well, if you can't get the job done, Will, perhaps you should let someone else give your filly a try."

Beth looked like she was going to be ill, and James eyed the oldest Henderson. The man was bigger even than James was, but James was sober and had more muscle, which gave him an advantage.

Robert Cameron looked furious. "Michael, I will thank you to—"

Henderson cut him off. "You sure would," the man slurred.

The other Hendersons had the grace to be embarrassed, and they quickly excused themselves and herded their oldest son out of the room and the house. James watched Beth and Will, curious why Will had done nothing to protect his wife from that ugly display—or even to stop it, for that matter. He looked at the remaining Camerons, Robert and Helen having followed the Hendersons out, and was surprised to see a catty expression on Honoria's face as she looked at Will. Lydia seemed amused as well.

When Will's parents returned, Beth quietly made her excuses. James stood with Will and Robert as she rose to leave the room, but when she passed between James and the low table between the sofas, she brushed against him. She stumbled, and he reached out to steady her. His hands went to her waist and to the arm nearest him. He heard her hiss in a breath as though she were in pain, and her body stiffened. When she was steady on her feet again, he released her, but before James could say anything, she murmured an apology for her clumsiness and continued on her way out the door. James stared thoughtfully after her a moment before he turned back to the others in the room. Will frowned at him, so James shrugged, made a comment about his big feet.

His family was already in bed when he returned to Oak Point. He made his way to his study, poured a stiff drink and sank into the chair at his desk. He leaned an elbow on the smooth, polished surface and ran the fingers of that hand through his hair. He covered the lower part of his face and thought. He had not imagined Beth's reaction when he caught her before she could fall. He had hurt her when he grasped her waist, but he couldn't imagine how—unless she was already injured. No one had said anything about an accident, though, and Beth herself had not indicated she had been hurt beyond that soft gasp of pain.

James swallowed a healthy mouthful of whiskey. He remembered her wedding day, remembered the promise Princess Arianna had wrung from him, remembered her assertion that Will hurt his wife.

It happened, and he knew it. Men hit their wives, often called it chastising them, as if they were children. James, though—and Will, too, for that matter—had been taught that hitting a woman was inexcusable, was something no man did regardless of provocation. James could not imagine any circumstance short of mortal danger to himself that would ever justify striking a woman. He simply could not believe that Will had hurt Beth. Disgusted, he realized that little Arianna had planted the idea in his head. He would not otherwise be thinking what he was.

Without proof, he had no choice but to assume Beth had injured herself. He had told her as they danced at her wedding that if she had need of him, she had only to ask. She had never asked. In fairness, though, he admitted, he had made himself scarce most of those months since her marriage. He had stayed away from her and from Will to avoid temptation. Until he was certain he could be in her company and not long for her, he felt it best to stay away from her.

Now that he thought about it, Will had not sought him out, either. He had spoken to his old friend rarely since Will's marriage. James swallowed some rye and sat back in his chair. Katy and his mother went back and forth as regularly as they always had, and Will's sisters and mother did as well, but neither Beth nor Will called on him or invited him to their home with the kind of frequency Will had before marrying. James had considered himself fortunate to not have to watch them together, but now he wondered if Beth knew how he felt or if Will had guessed. He sighed and lifted his glass again.

He circled back around to Arianna's assertions that Will hurt his wife. Beth had shown no signs of bruises, had not had any readily apparent broken bones. He simply could not believe Will, whom he had known his entire life, could do such a thing, especially to a woman like Beth, a small, delicate thing. Perhaps she had been thrown from a horse, he mused, and it then occurred to him he hadn't seen her on horseback for months. Maybe she had fallen and injured her ribs. There were any number of accidents small and large that could account for the pain she had obviously felt when his hand caught at her waist to keep her from falling.

Perhaps that was the explanation, he told himself as he swallowed the last of his whiskey. Perhaps she was simply clumsy as she had claimed.

Even as he thought it, he knew better.

He had made a careful study of the princess, and she was a graceful woman. He found it impossible to believe she had suddenly become unable to stay upright. She had a fine seat on horseback, her comments about sidesaddles notwithstanding, which made it less likely she had fallen from a horse. He sighed. There had to be a logical answer, one that didn't involve Will striking his wife.

For the life of him, though, he couldn't reach a plausible, alternate conclusion.

James chose to ignore it, push it aside. In fact, he chose to evade it by choosing not to encounter the couple at all. His imagination must be running away from him, his own desire for the woman making him come dangerously close to interfering in matters that were none of his business simply because he lusted after his best friend's wife.

-X-

Matters came to a head, so to speak, at a house party a month or so later. James had more to drink than he should have, but then the alcohol had kept him from thinking too much about Beth. He would see her, from time to time, as he returned indoors to refill his glass. Once he saw her walking in the gardens with one of her sisters-in-law. On one such occasion, James paused, glass to his lips, and thought how easy it would be to direct Beth off the garden path in the area where she strolled with Lydia and into the privacy of the woods.

He wasn't sure when she had retired, having stayed out of the ballroom and the other rooms guests had poured into and out of as the evening wore on, but when he realized he was not likely to accidentally come across her, he relaxed.

Her absence didn't slow his drinking. He couldn't bear the possibility of lying awake while Will joined his wife in bed nearby. He couldn't bear thinking about it while it might be happening.

Lem had been right, he thought, staring into the remains of the glass of claret he held before tossing it back. Beth had proven to be trouble. Trouble for James, at least. He felt certain he wouldn't be drinking himself into a stupor otherwise, and he certainly wouldn't be doing it with the regularity with which he seemed to be doing it these days. Not, he reflected as a servant handed him a fresh glass, that he was in danger of becoming a drunken sot. No, he told himself, studying the rich color of the wine, he only drank when he had to socialize or share a roof with the princess and her husband, when he couldn't take thinking about how close she was, couldn't bear remembering the silky feel of her skin, how her body looked beneath the thin linen covering her creamy skin, how her body molded to his those rare times he had held her, how her lips tasted beneath his when he had kissed her. The wine, the whiskey, helped chase away the echoes of those few times he had held her, touched her, kissed her, and they kept him from attempting to repeat the experiences.

This weekend, since they were in the same house, James figured he would spend a fair amount of the weekend drunk. He would have greatly preferred not being there at all, but his mother made sure he knew his presence was not only expected but required. So here he was, propping up a tree in the garden, trying to drink enough to overcome his longing for the princess and to let him sleep. He'd deal with the after effects, with the headache and possible nausea, though probably not with good grace. Perhaps, he reflected, his mother would never again torture him thus.

He had also isolated himself to avoid discussions of the war. He had no desire to expose his loyalty, especially since there had been a number of ugly raids on those who supported the King. He had Katy and his mother to protect, and he far preferred to avoid having to state and defend his sentiments to others where it could cost him dearly. As he swallowed more wine, it occurred to him that his neighbors seemed to be fervent rebels since the British were not in residence, but he wondered what might happen if the growing rumors that the King's generals intended to refocus their attention on South Carolina proved true. He had no doubt that the English army and its German Jägers would have no difficulty subduing the treasonous rabble who had actually taken up arms.

James suddenly lost his taste for alcohol, didn't even finish his claret. Instead, he walked down toward the river, nodded at those who clustered in the formal gardens and moved on, not at all interested in talking to anyone. He would walk long enough to tire himself and then retire, he decided.

He was lost in thought as he wandered along the river and moved out of sight of the house. It was a full moon, so he could clearly see the path before him. After a while, he began to regret his choice, thought once more of the day he had spotted Beth next to the river wearing only her chemise. He turned to return to the house, gave up on the idea of finding peace, when he heard the sound of lovers to the right. It soured his mood even more than it already was, more so, when he recognized Will's voice. Then he was furious. How dare Will betray his wife?

Then, he nearly laughed, bitter. Many married men, he knew, cheated on their wives—some only during their wives' pregnancies, some as a matter of course. James had often wondered at the duplicity men and some women, for that matter, practiced. Adultery was forbidden by both the laws of God and man, and for very good reason, but there were always men who felt they could disobey without penalty. His mind retraced the path his thoughts had taken. Pregnancy. He had thought more than once a quick pregnancy would be best for Beth, for him, too, but if she were, if that was why Will thought he could safely take a mistress . . . . James's thoughts stalled, and his chest ached.

When he reached the house, most of the other guests had retired. He began to head upstairs when Maria Cameron caught him by the hand. "We're playing hide and seek, James," she laughed. He frowned. The child's game was no such thing to the group of guests who were likely playing, he knew. It was late enough that most of those still up and participating were looking for bedmates for the evening.

"Go to bed, Maria," he snarled and shook off her grip, determined to head to his own room for the night.

To his dismay, as he stepped into the hallway that led to his quarters, he saw Honoria skulking down the passageway, thankfully facing away from him, and he hoped she would take the turn ahead of her. He had begun hearing stories about Will's oldest sister, especially since she had stepped up her pursuit of him. Because he knew Will was not in his room, and since Will and his wife had been assigned a suite of rooms, he thought it likely he would be safe to take temporary refuge in his friend's chamber. He opened the door and silently closed it.

Beth was, thankfully, nowhere in sight when he looked into the darkened room, a single candle still alight. He'd take one of the chairs, sit a while, and then go on to the room he had been assigned when he was certain no one would accost him. His boots made a noise on the wood floor, and he stilled.

The door to the dressing room opened, and Beth stopped just inside it, paled. Her expression puzzled him, mainly because it seemed to be a mix of hurt and disappointment. "I thought I heard Will," she said quietly.

She was still fully dressed, James noted, though he knew she had retired long ago. He was still just drunk enough not to watch his tongue. "Why aren't you undressed?"

Beth blushed, or at least he thought she did. In the dim light it was difficult to tell for certain. "I gave Sukie leave to visit her friend. She's a servant here."

He failed to see what relevance that had to his question, especially since his sodden brain could easily imagine her without her clothing. He had, after all, seen her without most of them once before.

Turning her back to him, she sighed. "I can't get out of my gown," she said over her shoulder.

James stared at her narrow back. The gold gown laced up her spine, and her maid had, apparently tightly knotted the laces to keep them from slipping. He had a bad feeling, a bad feeling that bore fruit when she asked, "Could you undo this, please?"

In any other woman, he would have assumed he was being invited to do more than open her laces. He wasn't sure why he didn't suspect Beth of an ulterior motive, but he didn't. Perhaps it was because, as far as he knew, Beth had not yet deceived him, because she was generally unusually plainspoken for a woman, and he suspected if she wanted him in her bed, she'd simply ask. He sighed and stepped toward her. He thought of hearing Will by the river, and he gestured for her to step back into the small dressing room she shared with her husband.

Closing the door behind him, James let Beth lead him through to the room she had been assigned. She locked the door that opened from the dressing room into the bed chamber she occupied, and he had qualms once more. He did not need to be caught with Beth alone in her room, but when she presented her back to him once more, he stepped behind her. The maid had tied the knot more tightly than was necessary, he thought, along with other uncharitable things as he tried to pick it open with his fingers. It didn't help that he could feel the heat of Beth's body or that he could smell roses and woman. He locked his eyes on the knot he worked and focused as hard as he could to shut out the sensations he experienced due to her closeness.

When the knot gave at last, he should have stepped away from her, should have left her to get on with undressing and should have done anything but what he did. He began to slowly unlace her bodice, let the silky ribbon that threaded it together slide through his fingers. When he had nearly finished, he leaned down, laid his cheek against her soft hair and breathed in. Beth stiffened when he slid his hands around her waist, but as James was about to apologize and leave her, she relaxed back into him, whispered his name. He bent his head further, put his lips to her exposed shoulder.

A shudder raced through her, and James opened his mouth on her skin, moved up over her throat to the nape of her neck. His fingers quickly finished pulling the ribbon from the last two holes, and he slid his hands under the silk, pushed the bodice off her. He found the fastenings of her skirts and undid those as well, loosening petticoats while he feasted on the skin of her throat and shoulder. He opened her stays and let them fall to the floor.

It took James a few moments to realize she was neither protesting nor assisting him. When he did, he lifted his head, stilled his hands. Her clothes, save for her chemise, lay in a puddle at her feet. She still faced away from him, and he could feel her pulse race, heard her rapid breathing.

_Wrong_, he thought. This was so wrong. She was married, married to his best friend. She was beyond his right to touch, to taste.

She stepped away from him, but her feet tangled in the skirts around her ankles. He caught her, lifted her free, and then wished he had simply let her stumble out of them. She turned to face him, her face crimson, but she refused to look at him. "Thank you." Her voice was barely above a whisper. He watched her arms cross awkwardly over her chemise, this one, he knew from where his fingers had brushed it and from the feel of it trapped by his hands against her body, silk, not linen.

He was about to step away when he heard a noise next door. Will had returned. Beth's face lost all color, and James noticed she froze. Her eyes met his, and she looked terrified. James could sympathize. If Will found them together, she would pay the price, that James knew. Will would likely call him out, but he was not only a better shot than his old friend but better with a blade. That didn't worry him, other than the scandal. It was Beth's welfare that concerned him.

James moved quickly, quietly, glad there was a thick carpet on the floor. He took her arm and towed her to her bed. He yanked back the covers, pushed her onto the mattress, and covered her with the bedclothes. He extinguished the candles beside her bed and silently retreated to the side of the door to the dressing room, momentarily forgetting that Beth had locked it. If Will decided to join his wife, James would slip through that door and out the one leading from Will's room to hallway.

He eyed her clothes on the floor. He stepped forward again, picked up her garments and draped them over a chair. In the moonlight that streamed through the sheer curtains beneath the still-open drapes, he saw Beth sit up in her bed, a bemused look on her face. He gave her an embarrassed grin. He had, after all, been playing lady's maid when this all began.

Will moved around his room. James held his breath, listened intently as his friend entered the dressing room, but Will never even tried the dressing room door. James heard faint noises, and then Will's feet retreated back to his room. All the while, James's eyes stayed locked on Beth, who sat bolt-upright in the bed returning his stare. He waited a while longer, but when no further sound came from Will's room, he decided it was time to make his way to his own bed. Just as he was about to move, Beth slowly pushed back the covers and slid from the bed.

She crossed to the hallway door, laid an ear against it, listened. James slowly, softly, stepped to her side. She looked up at him. He leaned in and kissed her parted lips. He shouldn't have, he knew, but he did. She returned the kiss, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks, and James' own hands reached for her waist.

He promised himself it would only be the one kiss, but he hadn't counted on Beth not having made the same promise. Her fingers splayed over his cheeks and then slid, stroked to his neck and shoulders. Her body moved closer to his, and his arms wrapped around her, pulled her more tightly to him. He should feel guilty, he thought, but he didn't, remembered the sound of Will's voice with whomever he had been earlier in the evening. In his head, Beth was his, James's, and that was when he realized he might not yet be sober. The question was whether it was the wine or Beth that intoxicated him.

Her hands were on his chest when he lifted his head. He dropped a soft, quick kiss on her mouth and was about to let her go and take his leave when she rocked up to kiss him again.

James moved her away from the door, and then he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her as he moved his mouth from hers to kiss across her cheek. "Stop me, Beth," he whispered desperately, but she turned her head and caught his lips again.

Laying her across her bed, James followed her onto it and opened his mouth on the hollow beneath her ear. Her breath caught audibly, and he sucked at the sensitive skin there. She shuddered, and he moved quickly, smothered her moan with his mouth on hers. He wasn't going to stop, and he knew it, but he would at least try to keep her husband from hearing them.

Beth's hands began working at his clothes. She stripped his neckcloth from him, shoved at his coat, tore at his waistcoat buttons. James shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, let her pull his shirt over his head. Her hands were warm against his skin, and he closed his eyes, focused on the trail they blazed against his chest.

His hands weren't idle. One cradled her cheek as he kissed her, and the other stroked over her hip, down her thigh, sought the hem of her chemise. When he found the skin of her inner thigh in the opening of her drawers, he stroked up it. Her breath caught as he caressed her, so he did it again. "Beth," he breathed, and took her mouth once more.

A sound in the hall froze them both, and James lifted his head, met her eyes in the darkened room. If there had been more light, he felt certain he would see a blush stain her cheeks. He refused to react as though he had committed a crime, so he moved his hand from her slowly, rubbed a soft thumb over her lower lip, and whispered, "I won't apologize, Beth."

"I didn't ask you to," she whispered back, "but you should probably go."

He didn't want to, wanted to stay where he was, his body on hers, though he would far prefer to be inside her. That thought alone was enough to have him easing his weight from her. He left her on the bed, found his shirt and pulled it on once more. He gathered his waistcoat and jacket, and then he crossed to her door without looking at her again. Her hand on his forearm stopped him from opening it. "James," she whispered.

"Get back in bed, Beth," he told her softly. "Let me go before we both do something we shouldn't."

He could see her hurt, could see the expression on her face, and it was nearly more than he could bear. He lifted his hand, stroked his forefinger over her cheek, sleeked it softly over her lower lip. "You are so lovely, Beth," he breathed, "and I want you so badly, but we can't do this."

She blinked rapidly, and he heard her swallow thickly. Then she stepped back, nodded, and gestured toward the door.

It was surprisingly difficult to open it and walk through.

-X-

His head ached considerably more than he expected, though he acknowledged it was probably exacerbated by a night spent with regrets. Regrets for having taken refuge in Will's empty room, regrets for following Beth to hers, regrets for undressing her, regrets for having kissed her, regrets for not having taken her up on her apparent invitation to share her bed.

James's mother gave him a number of recriminating looks at breakfast, but he didn't much care. He had one more night to endure in this house, and he vowed to go nowhere near Beth. As a result, even though he didn't remotely feel like it, he joined a hunt organized by their host. The pounding hooves, they baying of the hounds, and the horn made his head split, but at least it took his thoughts off a woman he could not have.

That evening he was moderate in his drinking, but he bowed out of the evening entertainment, holed up in his room after supper with a book guaranteed to finish the job the previous night's wakefulness had begun. He was weary, bone-tired, when he stretched out on the bed with the book he'd taken from the library below and started to read. He had chosen a history with a bland title, _European Principalities: A Discourse on Those Peculiar Institutions with a Special Commentary on Their Unnatural Existence_ by someone named Malcolm Campbell. James could care less about European principalities, so he assumed he would soon be bored to sleep.

Over two hours later, though, he was still avidly reading. The book was written by a man who had spent considerable time in Beth's homeland, and a good part of the book was devoted to her home and family. This Campbell was also an engaging writer, and James learned more than he had from Beth, her brother, and a book he'd found in his father's collection about the Princesses Falken. The man was not given to the hyperbole many writers were, and James appreciated his straightforward descriptions of the political and physical landscape of Beth's home.

He knew Beth had gone to a convent school, and he, like the others, had assumed she was Catholic, a presumption she had done nothing to correct. If what he was reading was true, then she had been raised not Catholic but the state church of her homeland. As near as he could tell, it was much like the Catholic Church, more so than his own Anglican Church, though not under the rule of Rome. He read that many women of the royal family were educated in church schools and one in particular, a St. Cecilia's. He further read that one of Beth's ancestresses had, under pressure of an attempted usurpation led by her sister and brother-in-law, sold her lands to a neighboring king by marrying him on the condition he preserved her title and the rights of her people. Her sister, and he had to wrack his brain for the name—Ghislaine—would rule over the principality housed within the nation and rule autonomously at that. She was, though, barred from marriage, primarily to guarantee there were no legitimate rival heirs to the rightful kings who had subsumed their principality.

It sounded a beautiful country, he thought, Campbell having provided a glowing description of the land and people. He wondered that Beth had willingly left it for the pestilential swamp that South Carolina could so often be. His thoughts soured as it occurred to him that she had left because she fell in love with Will. He wondered, given how she responded to him, what might have happened had he been able to accompany Will as originally planned.

There would have been a more even playing field, he acknowledged. Will might be prettier than he was, but Beth was attracted to him. It seemed to James sometimes that she was more attracted to him than she was to her husband. He might have won her himself had he been there.

When he finished reading the extensive section on her home in Campbell's book, he closed it and lay back, thinking. He had not imagined her response to him, that much he knew, and he was deeply concerned that he would fully betray his old friend before much longer. After all, he had very nearly done so the night before. He could hardly ignore his neighbors completely, but he couldn't bring himself to see her often. His mother was right, he acknowledged, his gaze tracing the lines of the bed's canopy. He should find a wife of his own. He had to get past comparing eligible women to Beth. He wouldn't be the first man who didn't love his wife, so all he had to do was find a woman he found attractive enough to bed.

And that was when the phantom image of Beth's body slid into conscious thought.

He wondered if she was sitting next to Will at that moment or dancing with him. Perhaps Will was off with his lover. For that matter, he wondered who Will's lover was. He had heard only panting and groans from whomever Will had been tarrying with, and it must have been a trick of his ears that it hadn't sounded very ladylike. He knew from experience that some women were aggressive lovers, and sometimes the sounds they made during the act were not very womanly. He did, however, wonder that Will could have tired of Beth so soon.

James sighed, rolled from the bed and began to undress. He shrugged out of his waistcoat and then his shirt. He was about to unbutton his trousers when a faint rap came on his door. Lem would have announced himself, so he knew it was not his manservant. James had dismissed the man and didn't expect him until morning, certain Lem had a sweetheart among the maids. He started to pull his shirt back on, then shrugged and stalked to the door.

Will stood outside, and he swung the door wide to let his old friend enter.

"Your mother said you were indisposed," Will said with a grin. "Now I see you just wanted to escape the matchmaking she clearly intended."

"Mind, it's all your fault for getting married," James groused, and if it wasn't as good-natured as it would normally have been, he attributed it to envy. The one woman he had met he would consider for his wife belonged to Will. He lifted a brow. "Don't tell me she sent you to drag me downstairs to be social?"

Will laughed and plopped onto James's bed. "No," he owned, "I just felt like escaping myself."

Deep down, James wondered if he was about to be Will's excuse to sneak off to his lover. He felt a spike of indignation at that, but he tempered his voice when he responded. "I decided I didn't need another heavy head."

"You did look a bit green this morning," Will agreed with a grin. James thought it had a mean edge to it. "I thought this might be a good chance to talk." He shot a look at James. "I don't see much of you since I got married."

James sat in the chair next to the bed and propped his bare feet on the bed's side rail. "That's what happens when you wed, Will."

There was a fleeting distaste in Will's gaze. "I have the notion that you've been avoiding me, James."

"You and your wife don't need an unmarried friend tagging along behind you," he said gruffly. He thought it must be a trick of the light that Will's face took on an odd look that made James want to reach for his shirt, pull it on. His flesh crawled, and then he considered that he must have given himself away, must have looked at Beth with longing, and what he saw was Will's anger.

The look vanished, and Will said only, "I miss my best friend, James."

Since he met Beth, James didn't feel like Will's best friend. He felt like a rival. Because he didn't know what to say, he remained silent.

"I know our friendship can't remain what it was. I have to consider my wife," Will went on, "but it is odd not to have you around as often. I realize you probably think Anna-Elizabeth and I need our privacy, but that doesn't mean you have to disappear completely."

It helped that Will called her by her full name, James thought. It helped him separate Will's wife from his Beth. "Hell, Will," he said with a small grin, "marriage turned you into a woman, full of girlish feelings."

"Laugh all you like, my friend," Will shot back. "We'll see what happens when your mother finally entraps you into an engagement."

James snorted. "Not likely, old friend."

Will stared at him. "You'll do your duty, James," he said softly. "You always do."

That was how he had remained home in South Carolina rather than gone to Europe with Will, he reflected. He did do his duty, and he was shirking this one. His mother would only redouble her efforts if he didn't find a wife, but James didn't think he could endure having too many more moneyed, attractive, mostly empty-headed females thrust his way.

"You really should consider Honoria," Will suggested, stretching out on James's bed.

James gave him a disgusted grimace. "Sister, Will." They had covered this ground on Will's wedding day.

"Then who might you consider?"

He nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from saying _your wife_. Instead, he named the first woman he could think of: "Luiza D'Oliviera."

It was Will's turn to look disgusted. "She's a Jew."

"She's beautiful, wealthy, and intelligent," James corrected. Luiza D'Oliviera was all of those, and James had noted they seemed to be the primary considerations in locating a suitable wife among their social set—though beauty and intelligence seemed optional.

"Her father is sending to Europe for a husband," Will said. "He wants her to marry in her own faith."

James feigned loss. "I've given some thought to going to London," he then said. He had done no such thing, but he knew he could make a business trip. He had considered changing agents for his rice and banking some of his money there to, hopefully, make sure it wasn't forfeit if James finally had to choose sides and the King lost the war. While he could change agents through his English solicitor, he had a feeling that getting away from Beth for a while might allow him to put her out of mind enough to find a suitable bride.

"You would do better to look here, James," Will said, rolling to his side to look at him. "You've got looks and money on your side, but the English girls still see us as ignorant savages and well beneath them."

He shrugged. "I wasn't going to hunt for a bride, Will, but with the war, maybe it's best to stay closer to home."

Will crooked his arm and propped his head on his raised hand. "When war comes again, James, what will you do?"

As he had done with Beth, James answered without pausing to think. "I will fight for King and country, Will."

His oldest friend frowned. "Then perhaps it's just as well you've not found a wife."

James cocked his head, curious what Will meant by that.

Will rolled to a sitting position. "You will have to worry about your mother and Katy," he explained. "Perhaps it's best to not have a wife to worry about as well."

That did nothing to clarify Will's meaning for James, but he chose to say nothing. Instead, he changed the subject, returned to Honoria. "Will, you should probably have a word with Honoria."

The other man frowned. "What on earth for?"

James regretted, looking at that annoyed frown, having chosen the subject. "Rumors have begun to circulate," he said.

Will's face cleared. "Ah." He sighed. "My sister has a strong will."

"The things they're saying about her," he began, and he was irritated that Will seemed well aware of what was being said about his oldest sister yet still considered her an appropriate wife for James.

"My sister is beautiful," Will said, "and many envy that beauty. Because she chooses not to play entirely by society's rules, those who are jealous invent stories."

James nearly told Will that from where he sat, they weren't inventions. Honoria was far too bold, and of late, James had been her chosen target. He would not be forced into marriage with her.

Will rolled to his feet. "But let's not argue about my sister," he said with a grin. "I'll leave you to your peace."

He locked the door when Will was gone. He splashed water from the pitcher into the bowl, washed his face and stripped the remainder of his clothes off. It was a hot night, and he decided to slide naked between the sheets.

As the house settled, he tossed and turned, tried to sleep. When he heard his doorknob rattle, his first thought was Beth, but it was Honoria's slurring voice that came through the door. He closed his eyes tightly, hoped no one heard her and came to investigate. He remained still and silent, and she eventually went away.

James was still awake when the sun rose the following morning.


	5. Chapter 5

Wilkins 12

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 5**

James buried himself in work, and he bore his mother's growing ill-grace. He didn't want to wife hunt, so he ignored her insistence that he do so. When she cornered him in his study a few weeks after the house party and offered up Honoria once more, he didn't mince words when he told her precisely why he would not marry the girl. His mother had gone white-faced in her shock. "I'll marry no Cameron daughter," he told his mother emphatically, and to her credit, she no longer pushed such a marriage.

That didn't mean she had given up, and when, a few weeks later, she finally advanced the idea that perhaps Luiza D'Oliviera might make a suitable bride after all, James repeated what Will had told him. She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I surrender!" she finally cried.

He felt a bit of guilt then, but it didn't stop him from saying, "Good," before he promised her he would find a wife in his own time.

In the meantime, to buy peace with his mother, he quit avoiding social engagements. He also quit hiding when he attended them. As a result, at the third dinner party to which he allowed her to drag him, he noticed once more how Will Cameron and the others ignored his wife. Beth could have been a piece of statuary among them, he thought as he observed her seated in yet another room watching the other attendees. He wondered if she were asleep with her eyes open after a while, but then she blinked. Not a single comment was directed her way, nor did she try to join the conversations around her.

On the way home, Katy asked, "Does Anna-Elizabeth seem happy to you?"

James swallowed but remained silent, though her question echoed his own thoughts. That left his mother to reply to his sister. "No, I admit she does not." She sighed. "I cannot blame her, though. Will does ignore her, and given that she has no family or friends here, he and Helen should do more to make sure she is included."

"She makes no effort," Katy said.

"Nor does anyone else," James snorted.

He suspected that if the carriage were not dark, his mother's expression would singe him. "It is true that our neighbors follow Will's lead," she said—frostily, James noted. He was curious how much of her disapproval was aimed at him for noticing and how much was aimed at Will for failing his wife. "Helen tells me the girl spends her time in her bedchamber or riding. She says Anna-Elizabeth has also spent considerable time with the slaves." The last was said with a note of horror.

Katy asked the question James wished he could: "Why with the slaves?"

"Apparently," his mother said heavily, "she's taken an interest in the crops and in several crafts they practice." When Katy asked what, his mother added, "Their folk medicine, their food preparation, their cloth making, and . . . other things."

Intrigued by the list, James wondered what else Beth might have taken an interest in, especially given his mother's hesitation and tone when she mentioned there were others but failed to specify. He already knew of her interest in the crops from that first ride he'd taken with her. He doubted his mother had much idea how the food that arrived at their table had been grown or prepared, let alone any notion how the crops that funded her comfortable life were grown. He doubted she had given thought to what the slaves did that she did not personally see. He listened as she told Katy that Helen Cameron said Beth apparently took copious notes when she visited the slave quarters and confessed she could see no reason for the girl's interest.

A few nights later, they dined at Hart's Crossing. When the women left them, Will sighed and pushed back from the table. Robert Cameron offered James brandy, which he accepted with thanks from the Camerons' manservant. "I hear your bride's taken an interest in agriculture," James said to his old friend.

Will made a face, and James wondered at that. It was Robert, though, who said, "Anna-Elizabeth's an intelligent young woman, and she's quite knowledgeable about the science. She grasps many things quickly. Apparently, she managed land of her own in her home country, and she has some interesting ideas about other crops that might be suited to South Carolina." Robert puffed thoughtfully a moment on the pipe he had lit. "She has a sound business acumen as well. If she were a man, it's quite likely she'd make us all even wealthier."

Noting Will's growing displeasure as his father praised his wife, James changed the subject, asked whether Will planned to race his two-year old filly that year.

When they rejoined the women, Beth was seated on one of the sofas. James found himself seated next to her and considered a moment how that had happened. The last time he had been this close to her, he had undressed her, held her in his arms. Kissed her. She smelled of lavender. He hoped against hope that time would pass quickly, though he doubted he'd be so fortunate since the conversation centered on the frivolousness it inevitably did when women were present—balls, fashions, engagements, marriages, and other gossip. He was surprised when Robert moved to seat himself on Beth's other side.

"I've been telling James of your interest in the crops," he said quietly, and James noted it was softly enough said that the women opposite them did not hear.

Beth blushed and glanced at him before saying more to her father-in-law than to James, "I confess a fascination for how the rice, in particular, is grown," she said softly. "Robert has allowed me to ride with him into the fields to see how it is done."

That Robert Cameron thought highly of her was obvious, but few men would allow a woman to come into contact with the field hands. Once more James wondered at the permissive attitude Will's father appeared to have toward women. "I've heard you've also taken an interest in the slave's work," James said.

This time she looked at him. "They are talented artisans," she said. When neither he nor Robert said anything in response, she continued. "Their use of color and pattern in textiles is astonishing, and the dyes they produce from various plants are most remarkable. I'm also intrigued by their baskets. In addition, the difference in foods they consume as opposed to what they serve us and the differences in preparation and their tastes in seasonings interests me. I have a friend in Europe who would love Cassie's food." She blushed when she stopped, and James realized he hadn't heard her string that many words together since before her marriage.

Robert patted her hand. At that moment, Helen asked her husband a question, and Anna-Elizabeth bowed her head and studied her hands in her lap. James watched her fingers fidget a moment, and then asked, "Your friend in Europe?" he prompted.

"He's a master chef, and he frequently steals indigenous dishes for adaptation," she said quietly. Then she smiled without lifting her head. "Of course, your climate and longer growing season mean you may produce crops we cannot."

James fought an answering smile. Even in profile, he thought her beautiful, especially when she smiled. His amusement was short lived when Beth retreated behind her mask once more when Will said James's name, and he turned his attention outward to Will's story of a recent visit to the Henderson's.

He next saw Beth riding with Robert along the edge of a field that adjoined Oak Point. James slowly rode to intercept them, lifted his hat and nodded to Beth, who stared solemnly at him and then, at last, gave a brief nod in return. She rode sidesaddle, he noticed, and he wondered that she didn't try and convince her father-in-law to let her ride astride. He and Robert exchanged pleasantries, and Robert said, "I brought Anna-Elizabeth to see the indigo. Join us."

Riding alongside Beth, James contributed now and again to Robert's monologue on growing indigo. For his part, James listened with only half an ear as Robert explained the planting process and how the crop was tended and then harvested in favor of studying the young woman next to him. He paid little attention to the discussion of pests and other threats to the plants, but when Beth asked about how they came to raise indigo, James noticed she perked up at the story of Eliza Lucas Pinckney, the remarkable woman who had learned to grow indigo in South Carolina and process it.

Robert invited James to join them for lunch at Hart's Crossing. James nearly declined, but then he remembered what Will had said and agreed. When they arrived, he helped Beth from her horse and followed her and Robert inside.

A servant showed James to the room where he'd often stayed as a boy so he could clean up a bit, and when he returned to the parlor, he found Robert alone. "Helen and the girls have gone to town," he explained after offering James a drink. As he handed James a glass of whiskey, he added, "Will escorted them."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why Beth had not accompanied the other ladies and her husband, but he did not. He was glad he had not when Robert sighed and took a seat on the end of the sofa nearest to the armchair James had claimed. "I fear Anna-Elizabeth has not fit into the family well," he admitted and sipped his own whiskey.

James squirmed inwardly. Outwardly, he lifted his glass and took a small mouthful of rye. He searched for an innocuous comment. "I am sorry to hear that," he finally said.

"I find her intelligent and charming," Robert admitted, "but I fear her ways are not ours, and, as a result, my wife and daughters dismiss her." Robert swallowed more whiskey. "My son should do more to help her assimilate, but he ignores her as much as his mother and sisters do."

Since he had nothing to say to that, having observed the same for himself on several occasions, James remained silent and felt he had a lucky escape when Beth joined them.

Lunch passed in pleasant conversation. He found Beth far more animated and far more forthcoming than in other social settings, but best of all, from his perspective, the conversation didn't center on feminine or frivolous subjects. As a result, after the main course was cleared, James mentioned he had read Campbell's book, and Beth smiled widely, one of the very few genuine smiles she had gifted him with. "I was a very young child when he last visited my homeland," she told him, "but I remember him quite clearly. He was a very funny man, quite dapper and very dashing. Apparently, he first visited our country to find out what had happened to several of his ancestors who fled Scotland." James quite liked how her eyes sparkled. "We took in a number of Scotsmen, especially after the last rebellion." She sobered a bit, and he wondered if she repented her free expression. "I will say his is one of the few books written by an outsider to accurately—mostly—reflect my country and my family."

When the meal was finished, Beth excused herself, rose gracefully and exited the room. Robert signaled the waiting manservant, and he and James were both provided port. "Thank you for joining us, James."

He nodded, and lifted his glass. "My pleasure." It surprised him that it had, indeed, been a pleasure. He stayed a while longer, talked to Robert about the war, about his concerns should he find it necessary to fight, and his father's best friend listened, promised to take care of Oak Point for him, if it came to that, and suggested it might be best if James sent his mother and Katy where they would not be caught up in what even James recognized was more a war between squabbling factions than a war with Britain. He promised to give it thought, and as he took his leave, he wondered if Robert considered doing the same for his wife, daughters, and Beth.

-X-

For days he thought about those very few hours he'd spent with her and her father-in-law. Beth had been much more the woman he'd met when she first arrived, and James wished he could see more of that Beth and less of Anna-Elizabeth, the porcelain doll princess.

The truth was, though, that he rarely saw either. As a result, when his sister Katy persuaded him to accompany her to dinner one evening when their mother claimed to be indisposed, he looked forward to seeing Beth again. Instead, they were told that Anna-Elizabeth was indisposed, and when Katy asked if she had come down with the ague, as many newcomers did, Honoria smiled and told them, "Unfortunately, she tripped, fell down the stairs, and is confined to her bed."

Unnerved, James studied the oldest Cameron daughter and schooled his features into a bland mask, unwilling to give away how badly he wanted to hear the details. He thought back to the night she had nearly fallen in Charles Town, and now she had tumbled down the stairs. He wanted to ask how badly she'd been injured, if she had broken bones or was just bruised, if there were other injuries, but he didn't.

Fortunately, Katy felt no such reserve and asked, "How on earth did that happen?"

Helen chimed in then, "We're not at all certain since no one was around at the time."

In his head, James added, _except the servants, who should have seen or heard something._

Katy opened her mouth to ask something further, but Will cut her off neatly by saying, "My wife is often distracted, forgets where she is." He smiled then and said, "She'll be fine soon."

Honoria then asked Katy if she had received an invitation to the Henderson's party for the following week, and no more was said about Beth or her accident. James couldn't help but wonder if Will's words hid another meaning.

-X-

Katy apparently decided to make friends with Beth, and this time James wondered if she did so to get closer to Will or if she did so out of genuine concern about Will's wife. When Beth began to receive visitors, his sister went, took a couple of books she thought Beth might like from their library. James had granted permission to loan them, realized Katy was more astute than he'd given her credit for when she seemed to know what might interest the other woman, but he wondered most of all what she might learn about Beth and her injuries.

Over dinner, his sister reported that Anna-Elizabeth had bruises but no other injuries, and it was all James could do to keep from asking what kind of bruises and where. He remained silent, though, mainly because he wondered if Beth had truly fallen or if something else had caused the contusions his sister had seen. He silently cursed Arianna du Mare and the suspicions she had raised for James about Will, suspicions it was harder to dispel after having overheard Will with a lover. He couldn't help but wonder if Beth had discovered that and paid a penalty for confronting her husband.

Somehow, he doubted it. In order to challenge Will, Beth would have to speak to her husband, and James hadn't noticed that either of them ever spoke directly to one another.

He left the stables one evening when he had finished a day in the fields only to find Beth and Katy walking back from the slave quarters. He stopped, frowned as he waited for his sister and Beth to reach him, and wondered what they had been doing. He bowed when they stopped before him, noted Beth wore a veil that obscured her features and draped over the shoulders of her cream-colored dress with its trailing ivy pattern. He suspected the greens in the ivy would complement her eyes were her face not hidden by the diaphanous fabric. Katy grinned at him and said, "Anna-Elizabeth and I were just visiting Mama Martine."

Beth held a curious, scuffed leather case by the ivory handle attached to its hinged lid. It looked a bit like a cross between a work basket and a fisherman's creel, and James wondered what was inside. Given Mama Martine ruled the herb garden and stillroom, he assumed more of those notes the Camerons claimed she often made were inside. He met Beth's eyes through her veil and said, "Mrs. Cameron."

"Mr. Wilkins," she returned softly.

"I've invited Anna-Elizabeth to stay for dinner," Katy said with a smile. "Help me convince her to stay."

"As I explained to your sister, I'm expected back at Hart's Crossing."

"You're more than welcome to dine with us," James said.

"That's very kind of you," Beth firmly said, and her chin rose, "but I really cannot."

"We could send word to Will, invite him, too," Katy offered.

Because he watched her so intently, James could tell she recoiled slightly. "That will not be necessary." There was a breathless quality to her voice, and he cocked his head, realized it was fear that made her sound that way. His thoughts raced as his eyes narrowed on the left cheek she turned his way in order to speak to Katy. The breeze blew the diaphanous fabric against her skin, and he could see what looked like bruising along the bone, on her eye, and he knew she had definitely not fallen down the stairs, that she had most likely been punched. He suspected that accounted for her refusal rather than fear of Will. After all, in order to eat, she would have to lift or remove the veil, and if someone had punched her, his mother would demand explanations. "I must go, Katy, though I thank you for taking me to see Maman Martine."

That hint of French came naturally, he noticed, brought her native accent out a little stronger, and James found he liked it.

"Allow me to escort you back," James offered.

She turned to face him once more. "That's very kind of you," she told him, "but I can find my way back."

So she had taken to riding alone again, he thought. He hadn't gone inside the stables, had simply handed off his own mount, so he hadn't seen her horse. She had ridden between the two properties before her marriage enough times to know the way, but even so, she should not ride without an escort.

Even as he thought it, James wondered how often she rode out alone and where. About to remind her that she should not do so, she turned to him, and he remained silent. He could see enough of her expression to know she didn't wish to hear it again.

"We'll both accompany you," Katy decided, and James held a hand for them to precede him.

His eyes were on the straight line of Beth's spine, his thoughts on what he remembered of the form beneath her clothes, so he almost missed his sister's laughing, "I had no idea Mama Martine knew of such things."

He zeroed in on their words then. "There are many things to be learned from a skilled apothecary," Beth said, "and Maman Martine clearly is a skilled woman. Does she often treat your family?"

"Oh, no," Katy said with a smile. "We see Dr. Thomas Weston. Mama Martine generally cares for the other slaves."

"I have little use for male leeches," Beth said quietly. "They seem to believe a good bleeding cures all, and they almost always believe women should be left to suffer their ills and pains. I far prefer someone like your Maman Martine who relieves suffering and treats causes rather than symptoms."

It wasn't hard to see Katy's shock, and James admitted his own—as well as the truth of what Beth said when it came to some physicians. He wondered what he'd missed, what subject they had discussed with Mama Martine.

Once they were on their way to Hart's Crossing, James recalled the rumors he'd heard, that Mama Martine and others like her knew how to rid one of an unwanted child, how to prevent getting one in the first place, and he was disturbed by the idea that it was for one or both of those reasons Beth had consulted the woman.

Over their own supper, though, Katy spilled what had been learned. Apparently, Beth was interested in painkillers, and given the bruising he'd noted on her face, he could well understand her desire to learn more. She could hardly consult a physician without raising questions or causing further gossip about her marriage, though he did find it curious she trusted a slave, one reputed to be a witch of some sort, to advise her.

-X-

James next encountered Beth on a visit to Hart's Crossing. He was there to see Robert about a business matter, and while he waited for the man to appear, he walked the gardens. Unlike Oak Point, the Cameron's had extensive formal gardens. James's own ancestors had restrained themselves to something much smaller and less elaborate, believing that their initially smaller holding was needed to build their wealth and feed them and their dependents. It still struck James as a waste of labor and resources to cultivate gardens like those found in the cooler English climate simply because they could. They were pretty, restful, he admitted, but it took a lot of labor to maintain them.

As he walked further along the path, he heard a giggle that rolled into a laugh, and he nearly turned around to head back to the house, certain he'd come upon a Cameron daughter and equally certain he didn't want to encounter her alone. It was followed by a laughing comment in French, and he recognized Beth's voice.

Holding an open book, she read, seated on a bench beneath a broad oak partially hidden by a line of manicured yew. When she looked up at him as he approached, her lips tipped in a smile, and her green eyes danced. "Bonjour, Monsieur Wilkins. Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?"

He snorted, amused despite himself and answered, "Je suis bien, Madame Cameron, et vous?"

Her smiled broadened, but she changed to English. "You speak French!"

"Badly," he confessed, having exhausted most of what he could remember with that exchange. His father had insisted it be part of his education, but he rarely used it. "Why is it you've chosen to speak French this morning?"

She held up her book, a small, leather-bound volume. "I am reading Monsieur Voltaire."

James squinted, read _Candide, ou l'Optimisme_in gold letters on the book's spine. "A very scandalous choice," he told her, amused. He'd read it himself, found it entertaining even as he understood perfectly why the rebels found Voltaire inspiring. This work, though, with its religious heresy and its outright sedition seemed an odd and, perhaps, inappropriate choice for the princess.

"It's very amusing, though I would have hanged Monsieur Pangloss myself had he been one of my tutors—and made sure he was truly dead," she told him with a broad smile. "The man is an idiot."

For a moment, James thought of his own tutors. "Most tutors are idiots," he observed, watched her eyes dance at his words, "at least while you are under their tutelage, though later I've found, it often turns out they knew a thing or two. I have to agree with you about Dr. Pangloss."

Her head tilted and her gaze sharpened. "You've read it, then?"

Nodding, James admitted, "My father purchased an English translation a few years ago. I was more troubled by Cunégonde and her duplicitous behavior."

Beth's smile faded. "I prefer to believe most of my gender is not as she is portrayed, though I confess to having known several Cunégondes."

Only then did James remember the stories about Beth's mother.

Before he could apologize, she shook her head. "Monsieur Voltaire may be forgiven for his portrayal of women, I suppose, for he is hardly any kinder to the men in order to make his points, and at least he is amusing in his satire."

"Amusing it is," he conceded, "though I found Jonathan Swift more palatable."

"_Gulliver's Travels_?" she asked with interest.

James smiled. "Read that, too, have you?"

"Yes, though I was rather more taken with his 'Modest Proposal,'" she said, and blushed.

"My countrymen and I were not happy to be accused of eating babies, let alone being knowledgeable about their preparation for table and how many one might feed—even in service of advancing Swift's point on the need for charity and the need to resolve what is, admittedly, a very real problem in most cities of the world," he told her drily.

"No, I suppose not," she agreed, and then her smile took on a mocking curve. "I do understand from my many tutors, though, that you Americans, as you style yourselves, are little better than the savages you subjugated to settle here."

"My experience of you Europeans has been that you can often be greater savages than we," he returned easily.

"Ah, well," she said and then neatly returned from mild insults to the subject at hand, "I have generally found that while man may aspire to Utopia, man's very nature means it is unlikely to ever truly exist." Her wistful expression shifted once more. "At times I think how lovely it would be to live somewhere like Voltaire's El Dorado, and at others I think how absolutely boring it would be if all our needs were met and there were no conflicts or challenges to face." Then the wicked gleam was back. "On the other hand, there are times when being a savage has its advantages."

James could think of one in particular as he looked down at her. The dappled sunlight picked red from her gold hair. Her fair skin gleamed, and his eyes dropped to the tops of her breasts exposed by her bodice. While it wasn't as low cut as many women wore, it still framed her assets nicely. He considered joining her on her bench, considered tasting her skin above the neckline of that sage green dress, but he heard gardeners nearby and doffed his hat, decided to return to the house and see if Robert had yet arrived.

Beth rose gracefully, asked if he would escort her to the house, and he nodded, offered his arm.

The warmth of her hand leached through his sleeve, and the brush of her skirts against his legs seemed strangely intimate. James pondered that, unsure why he was so aware of that light touch on his own trousers. He shot a glance at her, found her looking back at him, and his mouth went dry. There was no smile as she observed him, though their steps slowed.

Helen Cameron's voice broke the spell, and he watched Beth pale enough he could see the faint yellow tinge left from the bruises she'd had on her face. As they reached the steps leading up to the house, Beth released his arm, nodded slightly and said, "Thank you for escorting me back, Mr. Wilkins."

"You're quite welcome, Mrs. Cameron," he returned with a slight bow of his own.

He knew he was not mistaken about the enmity in Helen Cameron's expression, and it was that he dwelled upon as he rode with her husband to look at a farm that bordered both Oak Point and Hart's Crossing. James considered making an offer on the land, but he wanted Robert's opinion. His mother thought he should simply buy it, feared the Camerons might decide to acquire it themselves, but he knew Robert would only consider it if James passed on it, especially since the farmer, another Loyalist who was leaving for the West Indies, had offered it to James first.

As the man showed them over the property, he admitted, "My mother refused to live in the country, so we never built much of a house here." James had noticed the relatively small log house when they met the man. "I suppose it'll do for an overseer."

James nodded.

"The land's good, the soil's rich, and the water is easily accessible."

Nodding again, James eyed the remaining timber. He had the impression that little had been done to seriously farm the property, and that could work to his advantage if he purchased it. Some crops badly depleted the soil, he knew, and the uncut timber could easily be converted to money if necessary.

Of course, if war returned to their part of the country, that would prove considerably more difficult.

He promised to give the man an answer soon, and as he rode back with Robert, he was lost in thought. Buying more land was a necessity, but he could easily lose it if he had to fight the King's war or if his neighbors decided to rid themselves of those neighbors loyal to the crown. He debated the wisdom of expending what might be needed funds in that case; however, quietly continuing his life, building on their assets as his father and grandfather had done appealed.

The future was uncertain, after all, but land always had value.

"You seem lost in thought," he heard Robert say.

"Costs and benefits of buying Smallwood's farm," he replied.

"It's a rare opportunity to expand, James," Robert observed, "and one that is adjacent rather than distant makes it easier to supervise when needed."

The price was good, James acknowledged, and it was a gamble that could be more beneficial than the possible losses. He turned his horse and returned to tell Smallwood he wanted the man's land and make the necessary arrangements.

On the way home, he thought he saw Beth riding in the distance, and he wondered if she ever rode as far as the farm he'd just purchased.


	6. Chapter 6

I feel the need to warn you that this chapter contains adultery (though no one who's been reading hasn't figured out that was coming by now).

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 6**

Once Joseph Smallwood quitted the farm, James decided to take a closer look at what he'd bought. He rode out one cloudy morning, well aware rain threatened, but it was unlikely he'd manage much work when it quit threatening and got down to business. He examined the fields and timber, the barn, and then the house. It was really little more than a cabin, and as James stood in the open doorway and watched the rain drive down, he considered whether or not to simply abandon it, perhaps pull it down. He watched as the scattered drops coalesced into sheets of water. Part of him waited impatiently for the heavens to quit pouring down while another part of him hoped it didn't. The longer he was trapped here, the less time he would have to spend in the company of others.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the dampness. He was hiding again, he thought ruefully, but he couldn't help thinking it was the better part of valor in this case. James was uninterested in marrying, and as men left for war or married, the young, marriageable girls he knew began stalking him at social events until he felt like the last deer in South Carolina. It was all the more irritating because the woman he wanted was married to his best friend.

Among the things his father—and his grandfather before him—had instilled in James were the notions of honor and loyalty. He'd already violated that code of honor when he nearly seduced Beth, and he was dangerously close to being disloyal to Will. James had become uncomfortably aware that if Beth ever asked, he'd put her marriage to Will firmly out of mind and take what he wanted.

Eyeing a growing pool of rainwater near the cabin's steps, James thought of Beth, of how he worried about her. He'd watched her marriage deteriorate, though both she and Will still made an occasional effort to keep up appearances. It wasn't like every married couple he knew had a happy marriage. Beth's appeared cordial when she and Will were among others, but that might only be because Beth generally remained silent and Will refrained from any noticeable hostility toward her. James sighed, aware he was reading intent into Will's behavior that might not exist. It didn't change the fact he had seen the bruises he presumed Beth's husband left on her. He feared Will might one day seriously hurt her, and James knew it was only a matter of time before he felt compelled to confront his old friend about his apparent abuse of Beth. Such a confrontation, he knew, would expose his own feelings, and that would be dangerous to him and to Beth.

Heaving a sigh, he turned to survey the abandoned cabin once more.

It had one great room and one small bedroom at the far end. There was a small loft above the bedroom, though James had yet to venture up the rough ladder to see inside it. Smallwood had left some shabby furniture, most of which appeared to have been cast off from his town home and didn't suit a log house with puncheon floor, but the cabin, such as it was, was soundly constructed. He looked above him. The roof apparently didn't leak—unless it did so in the small loft over the far end.

He turned his thoughts to the barn. His horse was housed there at the moment. Old hay would need clearing out, he mused, and there were a few implements that had been left behind, most in disrepair. He'd have Moses come with him next time and see what could be done with those.

The rain eased a bit, so James folded his arms, leaned against the door jamb once more and waited to see if it would quit. He'd seen what he needed to, though he still had fields to more closely inspect. Smallwood hadn't been much of a farmer, though he hadn't needed to be since his wealth came from a lucrative collection of businesses in Charles Town, including a tavern. James figured the man had played at being a planter rather than considered it an actual vocation, particularly since nature had reclaimed some of the cleared fields, and the scrub would need to be eradicated before they could consider planting next year. The dirt he'd turned over with a rusty spade he found in the barn before the first spattering drops fell was rich and dark, and he was pleased it was good soil. It wouldn't suit for rice since there was no easy access to enough water, but he thought he might try cotton there. If not that, then there were other crops that most certainly would thrive.

Now, if the rain would only cease once more, he could consider heading home. As it was, he had lost the morning, and searching the sky, he wasn't sure the weather wouldn't take the afternoon as well.

Even as he thought it, the rain picked up again, and he listened to it drum on the cabin's roof. Through the falling rain, he saw a horse and rider approach. The rider reigned in as she reached the clearing. James stepped outside when he recognized Beth and her mare.

"In the barn," he ordered and gestured toward the low building. He followed her and swung her out of the saddle. "What in hell are you doing out here alone?" he demanded, turning her to face him.

Beth blinked up at him, her face noticeably pale. He snatched the mare's reins and began to see to the horse. It bought him a few moments to calm down. Did she not understand the dangers? Did she not understand what could happen if they were found here alone together?

Did she not understand how very near the end of his rope he was?

James eased the saddle off the mare, put it over the wall of a stall, removed the mare's bridle, and thought rapidly as he rubbed her down. As he finished his task, he decided to send Beth to the cabin and remain in the barn with the horses. He closed the stall door on the mare and turned to tell her that.

The words died unsaid. She stood, outlined in the watery light from outside, her clothes plastered to her. For the first time, he noticed she wasn't wearing one of her habits, wore instead a plain muslin gown the color of ripe wheat. James frowned; she sobbed. He closed his eyes and asked for strength. When he opened them again, saw her struggle to control her emotions, his anger washed away. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to know what had happened to make her ride out alone in weather like this.

James moved toward her, intended to ask, but when he was in front of her, he instead yanked her against him and took her mouth. She didn't protest, didn't fight. Instead, she wound her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back with a hunger that matched his own.

He tore his mouth from hers. "You shouldn't be here, Beth," he breathed against her temple.

Beth gulped air and said nothing.

James found that in that moment he didn't care about honor, about loyalty. He took her mouth again before she could object, devoured hers so that she couldn't tell him to release her, to let her go. It took a few moments to sink in that she wasn't protesting and she certainly wasn't resisting. Instead, she pressed her body tightly to his.

Somehow he'd known this would happen. Maybe not here, maybe not at this moment, but it had been inevitable since the moment he saw her standing on the deck of _The Delilah_. He had tried to ignore it, had tried to deny his attraction to her, but she was a peculiarly virulent fever that had infected him from that very first glimpse of her. He was drawn to her again and again. Each time he succumbed, he promised himself it would not happen again, but all it took was seeing her again, breathing her scent, touching her. He was tired of denying it, tired of watching her with Will, tired of fighting the elemental attraction he felt for her.

He had a moment of sanity then. He released her mouth, but he held her tightly to him, breathed raggedly while he fought for the will to let her go, to convince her to leave him and take shelter in the cabin across the clearing. He might have managed it had she not whispered his name brokenly.

James looked down into her upturned face. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her hair dripped water down her face. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, and as he studied her, the pins holding her hair gave way and the heavy, sodden mass slid loose. He didn't understand it. She shouldn't have been, bedraggled as she was, but James still thought her the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. "Beth," he said gently, but he wasn't sure what to say beyond her name. Too many tumbled thoughts fought to get out at once.

She swallowed then reached up and cupped his face. "James, I—"

When he took her mouth this time, he was gentle. He would only kiss her, he told himself, nothing more.

Beth's fingers released his hair from the ribbon that held it back, and her fingers threaded through the wet strands, molded to his skull. James kissed his way over her face, promised himself he would release her, but he found himself winding his arms around her waist and lifting her up against him so that he had better access to her mouth.

It finally occurred to James that she wanted this every bit as much as he did, and an insidious little voice inside him asked, _Why not?_ Once, just once, he would lie with her, love her, then send her home to her husband. He would hold the memory dear, feed the hole inside him with that memory, and never see her alone again.

Setting her back on her feet, James slowly released her. He lifted a hand, cupped her cheek in his palm, and, contrarily, said, "Beth, we must not."

Her lip trembled, but then she firmed it. She stepped back, nodded her head, turned, and walked out into the rain.

James went after her, telling himself with each step that he should let her go, but he saw again her sad face, and he couldn't bear possibly being the cause of that look. He caught her, stood looking down at her as the rain soaked them further, and then he leaned down and kissed her yet again. Beth was rigid, but as he gently moved his mouth on hers, she relaxed into him, and James knew it would not be the once, knew that when he had had her, he would still want her.

"Please," she whispered, and he heard an echo of his own desire.

He lifted her, swung her legs up so he could more easily carry her, and walked toward the cabin door. He was in no hurry. They were both wet through, and when he set her back on her feet inside the cabin's small bedchamber, he fumbled for the fastenings of her clothes. He tugged at buttons and tore the muslin of her bodice. For a reckless moment, he considered ripping the rest of her gown away, but the knowledge that she had no change of clothes and would need to be clothed when she returned to Hart's Crossing had him stepping away from her, spinning her so that he could see what he was doing as he finished opening her bodice.

Her hair dripped on the floor, and James pressed his lips to her damp shoulder. She moaned when, as he had done that night at the house party, he ran his mouth up her throat and nipped at a spot beneath her ear. She tasted of rain, smelled of woman, and James found it intoxicating.

He kissed his way along her shoulder, down to the edge of her chemise and along it as he eased the gown's bodice away from her. He let it plop, sodden, on the floor before he moved his fingers to her petticoat, quickly opened it and the others below it. Each garment slid to the floor, the weight of the water soaking them helping pull them off her. When he had her down to her chemise, he turned her once more, and cupped her face, kissed her, kissed over her face, her brow, her nose, her cheeks, her mouth, down over her throat.

Beth's hands pushed at his coat, and he dropped his hands, let her push it from him, heard it, too, splash to the floor. Her fingers made short work of his waistcoat and then the ties on his shirt. He'd need to remove his boots, but then he realized that despite her compliance, the wisest course of action was to give her the opportunity to decline. He took his mouth from her skin long enough to say softly, "Be certain, Beth."

Spreading her fingers along his jaw, she met his eyes. "I am certain, James." She stopped him from leaning down to claim her lips again. "You need to be certain as well."

He didn't answer, claimed her mouth instead, and maneuvered her toward the made bed. When he reached it, James leaned around her to pull the covers back. Fleetingly, he thought it odd that Smallwood had made the bed with what appeared to be clean sheets before leaving. Grateful that the man had, James turned back to her, stripped her chemise from her, and lifted her onto the bed. He removed her boots and stockings before he looked at her.

She was beautiful, her skin milky perfection; delicate pink nipples crested her breasts, the tips puckered tightly in the cool dampness. As he watched her, a faint pinkness crept over Beth's skin. James reached out, touched a nipple with his fingertip and then molded his palm to her breast. Her skin was cool, damp, and he considered warming it with his mouth. Deciding his body was an equally good option, he sat, pulled his boots off and then his own stockings. He stood to unbutton his falls, but she went onto her knees, pushed his hands aside and performed the task for him before she pushed the wet fabric off his hips.

James cupped her cheeks again and bent and claimed her lips once more. He knelt on the edge of the bed and put his arms around her, eased her back onto the mattress and followed her down.

Now that he had her there, naked beneath him, he did as he had dreamed. He touched, tasted, savored. He tasted her like he did a fine wine, slowly, like he did Bess's chocolate sponge cake, greedily. He stroked her damp skin, slid his hands over her, traced the contours of her body, cupped, cradled. She was as intoxicating as a fine brandy, and he was more than willing to succumb to her.

For her part, she traced him as well, and if her hands weren't as experienced as other women he had known, it didn't bother him. He would teach her, he thought, show her how he liked to be touched.

James wanted to take his time, to explore each and every single inch of her, but he had wanted her for so long, that he rushed a bit. When he could wait no longer, his fingers found her, stroked until she gasped, and then he fitted himself to her and thrust.

It had never, not even for a single moment, occurred to James that Will might not have done his duty, but he knew what he pushed through, knew what her sudden tightness and pained whimper meant. He clutched her to him, and shock gave way to confusion. He held her until she eased, relaxed, and then he looked down at her.

She had been Will's wife for more than a year.

There was something like fear on her face colored by clear embarrassment. Their bodies were still linked, and despite his need, he decided that talking must take precedence. He eased back out of her and tried to find the words to ask.

As he sought the words, Beth turned her face from his. "He doesn't want me," she said, her voice tight with tears. "I don't please him."

James found that hard to believe. How could she not please her husband? She was beautiful, passionate. How could Will not want that? His friend claimed to be in love with his wife—and that was when James realized Will had never said that. When he talked about his wife, Will had done so in the same way he talked about the things he owned—the things he owned with value—when he wasn't dismissive of her as he had increasingly been. It occurred to him that Beth was simply a possession, like a fine horse, a piece of art, to Will.

Gently, James eased her face back toward his, caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. "Beth, you should have told me," he said softly.

She misunderstood him, though. He could read it in her face. He bent his head, kissed her with the gentleness he would have shown her had he known she was untouched. He didn't pretend he wouldn't have taken her if he had known she was a virgin still, and his conscience took a moment to try and struggle free. Her mouth moved beneath his, her lips parted, and James's hand moved on her skin as he locked that conscience away once more. He kissed over to a spot beneath her right ear. "I wouldn't have hurt you for the world," he whispered.

Her eyes met his once more, and he was surprised to read desire there. "I know," she whispered. Then she pressed her mouth to his briefly before she added, "I'm not like other women, James. I was told, taught what to expect when the time came."

Women were generally kept ignorant of the mechanics of sex, he knew from his friends, knew Katy certainly had been. He was aware that many in their set believed that ignorance would keep females chaste, but he also knew many young women who had figured out there was pleasure to be had in bed sport and who had sought that pleasure. He didn't know how they had learned, but he knew there were many men who found themselves at the altar with a metaphorical gun to their backs and whose firstborn came early.

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I was also told," she whispered with a tiny smile, ran a hand up his side, "that if I don't enjoy it, then it is the man's fault."

His brows shot up at that. He suspected that was true, knew from experience—before he learned what he was about—that a man could find satisfaction in a woman's body far more easily than she could. He realized, though, that having hurt Beth when he took her, he was more than a little afraid to do so again, was more than a little worried he would simply hurt her more.

"Who taught you this?" he asked.

Beth's smile was soft. "You forget, James. I'm the sister of a woman whose fate is to take a lover, not a husband, the daughter of a woman from whom the same was expected. As a result, when the time came to understand what was expected from us, we were given a thorough grounding in what to expect from, in my case, the marriage bed."

But she hadn't been taken in her marriage bed, he thought. Instead, it had been on rough sheets in an abandoned cabin by a man who was not married to her, a man who had been her husband's best friend.

"I know also," she continued softly, her hands stroking up over his jaw, "that it hurts the first time, but if you do your part right, it won't again."

She was still willing, he marveled, knew men whose wives had not been so when their husbands had taken their virginity. She pulled him down to her, met his mouth with her own.

_Why not?_ he thought again. The deed was done, and she was still willing. He began again, concentrated hard on making sure she enjoyed it. He kissed her body, used his fingers to show her what it should feel like, and delighted in her movements, her moans, the shudders when her body convulsed in pleasure. For her part, she touched as well, kissed when she could, and when he eased inside her again, she moaned in pleasure, dug her fingers into to him to hold him closer. He rocked inside her, slowly at first, and as she began to move with him, he increased the pace incrementally, wished to prolong this as long as he could. Her body was hot, tight, and he was soon groaning her name as she did his. When she came undone, he followed her quickly.

Her lips parted for his when he was finally able to move again. Her hands slid over his shoulders to the back of his neck and up to cup his head as he gave her a slow, gentle kiss. He had been deranged when he thought he could have her once and let her go. He wasn't certain he would be able to even let her return to her husband. When he lifted his head, she drew a hand forward to cup his cheek. "I certainly have no complaints," she told him.

He laughed. "I take it I did my part well."

"Very," she assured him. "So well, in fact, that I think, perhaps, you should do it again."

James placed his lips on hers and then rolled off her, pulled her with him as he rolled onto his side. "You'll have to give me a little time," he told her. Her arm slipped over his waist as she moved closer to him. He wrapped his own arms around her, held her.

The urge to ask why Will had left her untouched nearly overwhelmed him. He didn't want to bring ugliness to this, though, so he remained silent, held her, stroked her spine lazily, and listened to the rain drum harder on the roof over them.

She stirred, tipped her head back so that she pressed a kiss under his jaw, another along the line of his jaw, and he dipped his head and let her have his mouth. "Beth," he began, but she interrupted him.

"Not now, James," she whispered. "Don't spoil this by making me tell you about Will."

He met her eyes, examined the sad shadows, and decided to let her have her way. "What else were you taught?" James asked.

Beth went deeply rose-colored again. "I was told what to expect, and I was also told a few things about what men like."

His brows shot up. "Like what?"

One of Beth's hands trailed down his chest, over his stomach, and she found him. Her hand grasped him. He felt himself begin to harden, lengthen. Her fingers tightened around him, and she moved her hand slowly up him, then down again. She stroked again, and he reached to adjust her grip, tightened his hand around hers to add yet more pressure. His breath hitched when she gave a slight twist as she reached the end. He considered letting her hand provide his release, but he wanted inside her again. Her mouth began to kiss along his chest, her tongue darting out now and then to lick a heated trail, but he stopped her, rolled her onto her back. This time, he was a little more hurried, a little less gentle, but Beth made no complaints. Afterward, he would have sworn she purred.

They dozed awhile. When he roused, James held her, listened to the rain, and waited for her to wake as well. When she did, he pressed a kiss against her temple, ran a hand over her back, and softly asked, "Beth, how is it that Will never. . . ." He trailed off, unable to say it.

She tilted her head back and met his troubled gaze. "He isn't attracted to me, James," she told him.

He frowned. How could Will not find her beautiful when pretty much every man in the parish did?

"Men, James," she told him gently. "Will prefers men."

James blinked. His mouth dropped open, but the words he wanted refused to come. When he could coherently think again, he started to protest but then stopped. Will had never gone whoring with him and their other friends. He had gone to the taverns, but he had never bought a woman. He had talked about sex, just as the others had, but James realized, thinking carefully, that Will's exploits had been carefully phrased, that gender had never been voiced.

That didn't stop him protesting her claim. "You must be mistaken," he said at last. She had to be.

She shook her head. "No, James."

He had heard some men preferred to find their pleasure with other men, that there were some women who preferred to lie with other women. They were taught it was a sin, but the truth was that as long as it remained hidden or mere supposition, society looked away. Some of those men married, fathered children, if rumor was to be believed. He'd never heard a bit of gossip about Will being one of those men, though, and he marveled that his friend could keep such a thing quiet.

A part of him, the part that had known Will his entire life, still doubted Beth's claim. There simply had to be some other explanation.

On the other hand, he had never believed Will would ever harm a woman, but he'd seen bruises on Beth, bruises that could only have come from someone hitting her, and he was certain it hadn't been Robert Cameron and doubted it was any of the women in the Cameron household—though James owned he couldn't be completely certain.

Watching her, he weighed demanding proof, but deep down he didn't want to know. He pressed a brief kiss on her lips. One thing he did know was that this wasn't going to be just once—unless she insisted it be so. From her earlier urging to do it again, he doubted she wished to end what might be between them with this one stolen day.

"You know this is dangerous?" he asked.

She nodded. "There are ways, James, to make sure there is no child."

His throat thickened. It wasn't exactly what he had meant, but now he imagined her with child, his child, and was stunned by the yearning he felt for that. He nodded. "One of those things they taught you?"

She shook her head. "Knowledge I sought when I realized men don't always wait to be invited."

He could hazard a guess as to what she meant, though he wondered at the bitterness with which it was said. He remembered her brother had hinted that she had suffered some misfortune, but James knew it had not been rape. He pulled her closer. "Will you invite me again?" he murmured against her cheek.

Beth's eyes shifted, then, darkened. A slight, gentle smile tipped her lips. "Always, James," she whispered back.

Tempted though he was to take that as an invitation and to accept it, they were out of time, he knew, so he kissed her and then helped her from the bed. They dressed in their still-wet clothes. James stared at her torn bodice. She seemed unconcerned, though. Dressed once more, they ran for the stables, the rain having picked up again.

He bridled and saddled her mare and then his own gelding. He gave her a leg up and then mounted his own horse. "I'll go with you to the edge of Hart's Crossing," he told her.

At the end of the lane that would take her back to her husband's home, he turned his horse and stepped it close to hers so that he faced her, their knees pressed together. "I'll be at the cabin next week, same time," he told her.

She nodded, gave him another soft smile. "I think I shall go riding then."

James grinned and reached a hand out to stroke down her wet cheek. "Beautiful, beautiful Beth," he said softly.

Her head turned and she pressed a quick kiss on his palm before she rode away from him toward Hart's Crossing's stables. He watched her go and then returned to Oak Point.

As he walked in the front door of his home, the butler, Ruel, eyed him balefully as he dripped on the carpet. James had a brief moment of shame, remembered how that look had skewered him as a boy each time he misbehaved. "Mr. James," the man's graveled voice said, and he heard a warning note in old Ruel's voice that made him pause, look at the stooped slave. "Your mother says to tell you the Camerons are coming for dinner."

Nodding, James headed upstairs and wondered how he would sit at table with Beth and not betray what they had done.


	7. Chapter 7

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 7 **

Lem didn't say a word when James yanked off his boots, but James could tell his manservant dearly wanted to. It was in the tightly pressed lips, the fact that the man didn't speak even a word of greeting when he entered James's bedchamber. They had been companions, playmates, during their childhood in the days before James had fully understood the difference between their stations in life, and while his mother often chided him for what she saw as his over-familiarity with Lem, James was comfortable with the other man's occasional boundary crossing.

This time, though, he knew he deserved whatever disapproval moved Lem to silently provide him with dry clothes and water with which to wash. Lem didn't even comment on the sodden state of his clothes, didn't remark on the possibility James might have caught his death. Even as it troubled him, it also relieved him. He wasn't certain he could hide how he had betrayed Will were Lem to question him as usual.

He hoped Lem's disapproval stemmed from James sitting in his wet clothes on his bed, probably soaking the quilted coverlet and the sheets and mattress below it.

As he stood and pulled his sodden shirt over his head, Lem gave a tutting noise from somewhere behind him. James ignored it, handed the shirt to the other man and shed the rest of his garments. When Lem left him, he crossed to the washstand and began to clean himself. His back stung as he moved the soapy rag over it, and he turned, looked over his shoulder so he could see his naked back in the mirror.

Beth had marked him, and there was no mistaking that the four red lines down his back had come from someone's nails scraping away the outer layers of skin.

Even as it explained some of Lem's disapproval, James reminded himself his manservant didn't know which woman had left her mark on him.

When he was dressed again, he went downstairs to his study. He'd work on his books, one of his least favorite tasks, until it was time to dress for dinner. His mother always insisted on formal dress when they entertained, even when it was only the neighbors. James resented having to wear them, especially for the Camerons.

As he reviewed Oak Point's expenditures and calculated his probable income once the harvest came—assuming there were no catastrophes like drought, floods, hail, or hurricanes—he reconsidered the wisdom of buying Smallwood's farm. For a moment, though, he pictured Beth naked in the bed at the farm, and considered it money well spent.

On the other hand, James would need more labor to put the land into production, and that meant purchasing slaves. He calculated the number of men he'd need to clear the land and maintain what needed doing at Oak Point, considered which crop or crops he would plant on the new property, calculated the man hours needed to accomplish that, and then decided how many new hands he would need. Then he considered the cost, balanced it against the potential earnings, and made decisions.

Fortunately, he didn't need to invest in new hands yet. He would use the winter months to clear and prepare Smallwood's farm for planting the following spring, but he'd keep an eye on the market and the upcoming auctions in Charles Town for affordable workers.

Bess brought him tea late in the afternoon, and he noticed she had put a slice of his favorite chocolate cake next to the pot and his cup. He shot her a suspicious look. Bess, their housekeeper, had been his nursemaid when he was a child, and she normally didn't indulge his sweet tooth, feared he'd get "fat and useless," as she put it. Bess tended to take liberties he allowed no one else, and it was clear from her face that she was sweetening him up since she obviously intended to take one of those liberties.

She folded her arms and began with, "You came home a right mess, Mr. James, trailing water and mud all over my floors."

He bit back a smile. She had never thought much about making him feel as if he were a toddler, but he didn't mind her bossiness, for the most part. He refrained from pointing out they were his floors as he waited for her to get to her point.

"Virgins are trouble, Mr. James." She cranked up a brow.

One of his own rose. "Best mind your own business," he warned softly. He was certain she was not able to read his mind, and he was equally certain she had not spied on him. It was always possible one of the slaves had followed him and told her, especially if he or she had overheard his discussion with Beth.

"You get one of them Cameron girls with child, and it'll be my business."

He set his jaw and eyed her, but Bess didn't back down. He had been seen with Beth, then, though the erroneous assumption had been that she was one of Will's sisters. Beth was smaller and less blonde than Honoria, and both Maria and Lydia were brunettes. Perhaps the rain had disguised Beth, or perhaps they had only been seen from a distance as she returned to Hart's Crossing.

It must be true, he reflected, that familiarity bred a certain amount of contempt, or perhaps it was simply that having taken care of him when he was a boy, she had a hard time knowing what many planters would consider her place. "There is no danger of my getting a Cameron daughter with child," he told her tightly. He didn't add that a particular Cameron wife might be an entirely different story.

There was a look of consternation on her face. "You never was one for bedding slaves," she reminded him.

No way in hell would he respond to that particular observation, though it indicated he and Beth hadn't been seen after all. It was true he wasn't like those planters who often slept with the women they owned, but if he let this continue, Bess would likely have him confessing what he had done, and he knew she would be far less approving of an affair with his best friend's wife than she would of him bedding her kind. He changed the subject. "What time will the Cameron's arrive for supper?"

Her eyes narrowed, and he was certain she tried to determine whether or not he lied or simply wanted to change the subject. Whichever it was, she dropped her arms and said sharply, "Seven," and left him to it.

Staring at the chocolate sponge cake on its plate, he found he had no interest in eating it. Perhaps he might have caught his death after all.

-X-

James hid his disappointment that Beth was not with the Camerons when they arrived. He let Katy ask why she wasn't, and it was Helen who said, "She caught a chill after foolishly riding out in the rain."

Catching an angry frown on Will's face that quickly disappeared, James worried Beth's chill might truly be something else.

It had been a long day, a dreary day, lit only by those stolen hours with Beth, and James found he had little patience with company that evening. He did his best to hide his irritation as they gathered before going in to supper and talked, as inevitably they did, about their neighbors, about parties, about fashion—in short, about nothing of any consequence. Dinner conversation was more of the same.

When the ladies left him with Robert and Will, though, James considered his precarious position and hoped the conversation would not take a personal turn.

For the most part, he had nothing to fear. They talked horses, talked racing, talked farming. Robert dozed off, and when Will noticed and dropped his voice, James did so as well. Will's father was in his sixties, and his heart had begun to trouble him of late.

Will picked up the port and poured a measure, looked a question at James, who shook his head. He'd never been terribly fond of port, drank it only when the Cameron's were there since both of the Cameron men enjoyed it.

"The time is coming, James," Will said, his own blue eyes trained on his, "when you will have to commit."

Deciding not to dissemble, James studied his friend in return. "As will you," he countered.

"I've made my choice," Will admitted, "but you should reconsider yours."

"Why?" The second it was out, James wondered if he should have held his counsel.

"You will not be on the side of right in this," his friend replied. "You're on record as a sympathizer to the Crown, James."

South Carolina had generally been battle-free since 1776. When the Assembly voted the levy, James had been one of the dissenters—with Benjamin Martin, of all people. That day he had played devil's advocate in the debate that ensued, despite voicing his actual opinions, but it had cost him, financially and socially. He had learned his lesson and learned to tread lightly when his friends and associates talked about rebellion and about the war.

Because of their long friendship, James felt free to speak honestly in front of him, disregarded that he had betrayed Will that afternoon. "Martin was right," he said, stretching his booted feet out and crossing his ankles. "We would be trading one tyrant three thousand miles away for three thousand tyrants one mile away."

"Better the devil you know," Will said. "At least we have our best interests at heart. The King merely sees us as sources of revenue."

There appeared to be truth in what Will said. God knew this war's roots could be traced to decisions by the Crown and the English parliament to beggar the Colonies with taxes, ostensibly to pay for the colonials' own protection. The truth was, though, that the rebels had overstepped a boundary or two themselves in their zeal to throw off their English masters, particularly those New Englanders. Some planters in the southern colonies were afraid that document of Jefferson's, the Declaration of Independence, was intended to free the slaves. Jefferson, though, owned his own, and James sincerely doubted the man would give them up. He'd heard of Monticello and its beauty, and he doubted Jefferson could afford to pay labor to maintain it.

That was the conundrum for South Carolina as well. They were outnumbered by the blacks nearly two to one, and the planters couldn't afford to free them. The lavish wealth many had accumulated simply wasn't possible with labor that had to be paid, and while James had many moments of unease over owning another human, he was responsible for his mother and Katy's welfare, and the slaves made their lives possible.

Besides, given that no one counted the slaves as men, he sincerely doubted Jefferson and his friends had meant to credit them as being such.

"We have a lawful government, Will," he sighed. "You're speaking treason, and while I suppose you'll have to do what you think best, I will remain loyal."

His friend eyed him, and James considered the potential costs of his choice should the Crown fail. Then again, England had the greatest army the world had seen, and while they had yet to force the Continental Army, as they styled themselves, to capitulate, he was confident they would. Seeing Will's implacable expression, James considered the far more personal treason he'd committed that day with Will's wife. He kept his eyes steady on his old friend, though, did nothing to betray his thoughts.

Will shook his head. "You know they're attacking loyalists again?"

James nodded grimly. Paul Herrington had paid him a visit the day before to discuss the most recent assaults. He had told James he was taking his family to England as soon as passage could be found. He no longer felt safe, Paul had told him, and since his wife had recently given birth to their first child, he had decided to take them to safety, promised to return when the King's army had finally finished putting the rabble down.

He thought about what else Paul had said. He'd urged James to do the same, told him that if he wouldn't go himself, he should at least send Katy and his mother somewhere safe. James, though, knew his mother wouldn't leave until the threat was certain—when it would probably be too late—and even then he suspected she'd insist on retiring to Charles Town to wait the traitors out.

"There's no glory in siding with the losers," Will said, and tossed back the last of his port.

James was still caught in his thoughts, so his reply was distracted. "There's no honor in treason."

When they joined the ladies, Katy looked upset, and James wondered what had been said to her. His eyes unerringly found Honoria, who struggled to look the innocent James knew she was not. He wondered that Robert had not become aware of the girl's scandalous behavior, and he considered having a word or two with the man.

All things considered, though, James knew he could hardly take the moral high ground.

After the Camerons left, he considered retiring for the night, but his mother's expression stopped him. It was telling that she sent Katy upstairs before she began. "Please tell me, James, that you did not spend this morning dallying with Honoria Cameron."

"Hell, no!" he denied hotly before he thought better of it.

For once, his mother didn't rebuke him for language. She looked so relieved, James figured he had a pass for that, not that he often so forgot himself in her company. "Honoria spent much of our time this evening dropping hints that you had been indiscreet."

His mother's tightly compressed lips betrayed her anger. He'd seen that expression before, but generally only when she had needed to discipline him as a child and his father was unavailable or unwilling to perform the task. "I spent the morning at the Smallwood farm," he told her, careful to meet her eyes so that she would not doubt him. "After the rain started, I decided to wait it out. When it was clear it would not stop, I returned home. I did not meet Honoria, nor did I see her until this evening when she arrived here with her family."

If his mother thought to ask if he'd been alone, he was going to have to lie to her, and he'd rarely been able to do so without being caught.

"Bess told me you had a woman's marks on your back."

James heaved a sigh, walked over and found a bottle of brandy and tipped some in his glass. He nearly told his mother Bess couldn't know since she hadn't seen his back. He knew, though, that her son, Lem, who had seen them, had likely told her. "Bess talks too much."

His mother snorted. "I swear, James, I'd never know anything that is going on with you if she didn't."

Dropping back into his chair, James sipped at the brandy. He would have to tell her something, but the truth was absolutely out of the question.

"Men have needs," his mother continued quietly. "I understand that, and you're not a married man yet. Please promise me you won't touch Honoria or any other innocent young woman."

James nearly reminded his mother that Honoria Cameron was far from innocent, but her disgusted frown showed she was well aware. Instead, he offered, "I will never touch Honoria, Mother."

Her worry was still there, and James was well aware that was likely because he hadn't promised to not touch an innocent woman. If she pushed, there were several ways he could remain truthful and not disclose what he had done. Beth was no longer innocent, and he certainly intended to continue touching her in all the ways he could. When he married, if his wife were an innocent, he'd certainly have to touch her to do his duty. He sighed. "I shall be careful, Mother, and I shall make sure I am never alone with Honoria and never in a position where she can make accusations that are completely unfounded."

"She's laying a trap for you, James," his mother said tersely, "and I beg you to take care. If she's managed to get herself in trouble, then I'll not have you pay the costs for her transgressions."

Glad his mother finally understood, James nodded wearily. He promised to take care, promised to make sure he was never alone with the girl, and then was relieved when she decided to retire for the evening.

Left alone with his thoughts, James realized that if he continued to meet Beth, he opened himself to accusations he would be unable to combat without exposing his affair with Will's wife, especially if Honoria was, indeed, determined to entrap him. It was also possible, he mused, lifted his glass and finished his brandy, that she knew he had seduced Beth and intended to expose them.

Perhaps he should simply not return to Smallwood's as he had promised Beth.

-X-

When he entered the barn, Beth's mare was already there. He had nearly talked himself out of meeting ger, nearly convinced himself that he should end this before it could go any further, but the reality was that James could no more have stayed away than he could have sprouted wings and flown. He unsaddled his horse, put him in a stall, and crossed the yard to the cabin.

Beth's head poked out of the bedroom door, and he matched her smile with a grin when he saw her blush. He crossed to the bedroom and found her making the bed. Surprised, he gaped.

"I can do a few things for myself," she told him dryly when she caught his expression. "I'm not totally helpless, and I thought clean sheets might be nice."

Entering the room, he caught her in his arms and turned her. "I never believed you were helpless," he told her, and then bent to kiss her.

He didn't give her a chance to finish tucking the top sheet in, nor did he give her an opportunity to remove her clothes. Instead, he tumbled her back on the bed, removed her boots, lifted her skirts, removed the trousers she wore beneath those skirts, and simply exposed what needed exposing before he set about making her writhe, moan, and, finally beg for him.

James didn't think twice about granting her pleas.

Afterward, as he pressed breathless kisses on her, he considered that he had never before been so greedy for a woman that he hadn't taken the time to see to her comfort. Beth's smile when he lifted his head indicated she hadn't been the least uncomfortable, but James still considered apologizing for his haste.

"While I liked that," she told him, a little breathless herself, "your weather is far too hot for such strenuous activities in this many clothes."

James laughed. "It isn't the heat but the humidity."

Beth's brows rode up and a smile tipped her lips. "Whatever it is, I'm sweltering, James. You could at least have the decency to let me undress."

He caught her mouth, kissed her until she clung to him, and considered that decency might have very little to do with what they had just done. It occurred to him then that he didn't particularly care about what was decent at the moment. He had limited time with Beth, and he intended to use that time well. "Your wish is my command," he told her and pushed off her.

"I have no desire to play princess and issue commands," Beth assured him with a laugh. Despite her light tone, there was something troubled in her eyes.

He pulled her up and helped her from the bed, moved her so that she stood before where he sat on the bed's edge. He kept his eyes on hers, and began to slowly remove the heavy green jacket of her habit. "I've no wish to be ordered about, Beth," he admitted, "but I do wish to please you."

Her smile was enchanting, and he noticed for the first time that when she did so, her eyes nearly closed. "You please me," she told him softly as she reached out and began to untie his neckcloth. They watched one another as they opened garments, removed them, and when he had removed her bodice, James pulled her closer between his thighs and began pressing kisses on her exposed chest. After a few moments, her hands stopped their work, halted in their mission to undress him. Instead, she cupped his jaw and lifted his face to hers. "You know we should not."

Beth's green eyes were solemn, and her voice made plain it was not a question. He wondered briefly if she had changed her mind, so James met them with equal gravity and said what he knew to be true: "You know we will."

She smiled, but this time there was a bitter little twist to it. "Then we have much to discuss, James."

For a few moments, he considered how he might get her to reconsider, to talk later if they bothered to talk at all. Her expression made plain she was determined to say her piece, so he stilled his hands and settled her against him. She placed her own hands on his shoulders. He nodded for her to proceed.

"I mustn't get with child, James," she said, and a rosy pink climbed her cheeks.

His breathing picked up at the thought. "No," he finally agreed, but he couldn't say he liked having to do so. The idea of Beth carrying his child pleased him, but it would be perfectly obvious to Will, if what she had told him last time were true, that she had betrayed her marriage vows if he did get her with child. There was no divorce in South Carolina, and James couldn't afford to humiliate her, to alienate the Camerons should she bear a child that was obviously his.

Then he was distracted by the idea that she might have begun sleeping with Will for protection, so that if she fell pregnant, there would be a good chance the child was legitimately her husband's.

James tensed, breathed harshly, and reminded himself that Will had the right to make love to his wife; James didn't.

Beth leaned in then and kissed him gently. "I don't wish to anger you, James," she said softly, "but before we do this again, we must think, be certain we're prepared for the possible consequences if we cannot avoid them."

What followed was one of the most uncomfortable discussions of James's life. It soon became apparent that her knowledge of ways to prevent pregnancy was far more advanced than his own, and he remembered then her visit to Mama Martine, wondered if that was where she learned about herbs, about pessaries, about timing for sex, and about having him withdraw, having him abstain from releasing his seed, and of the sheathes many men wore in hopes of preventing pregnancy and disease.

"How do you know these things?" he finally asked.

As she had spoken, she had dropped her gaze, for which he'd been thankful. Now, though, her green eyes lifted to his once more. "I told you, James. I've had an unusual education, and I sought the answers that fill the gaps in that education."

"Where?" he asked, unable to believe someone had simply set her down and told her the things she had just recounted.

The blush deepened again. "My mother, my cousin, a professor of medicine, and a series of translated books in both the family and the royal libraries in my homeland."

James had read several French novels, had even read Cleland's scandalous _Fanny Hill, _knew that the Europeans had a taste for erotica that could be amazingly educational, but he was stunned by the idea an innocent young woman might have been exposed to such works.

As the color faded from her cheeks, her expression shifted. "I'm not like your women, James."

Given that was one of the reasons he found her so appealing, James pulled her closer again and caught her lips in another kiss. He didn't want the women he knew, in part because they were often one and the same. He had not considered before that Beth's very appeal was in her exotic nature, in her unwillingness to bow to expectations, and in the intelligence she did little to disguise. That it came in such a lovely package didn't hurt, either, he acknowledged, despite the realization that his appreciation for her prettiness was a large part of her appeal. That made him somewhat venal, he knew, but then he'd never pretended to be high-minded.

"I'm quite happy you're not," he assured her, thinking of the unscrupulous Honoria.

Her smile was soft, her hands more so when she ran them over his chest. "I'm quite pleased you are unlike other men," she whispered before leaning into him and taking him mouth captive as she returned to the task she'd failed to complete in order to discuss how to proceed.

For his own part, James loosened the remainder of her habit before he worked on her stays. When she wore only her chemise, she stopped him from removing that final barrier. Willing to allow it for the moment, he laid her on the bed and removed his boots before shedding the rest of his clothes.

Redressing his earlier haste, James slowly stroked his hands over her, tasted the salty skin he had exposed, and considered how he might get her to let him uncover the rest of her body. While he enjoyed the feel and the taste of her, he enjoyed the sight of her even more.

It wasn't that he couldn't see her at all. On the contrary, her chemise's thin linen simply allowed tantalizing glimpses of her body beneath its covering. He could see the shadow created by the curls where her thighs met, could easily see the nipples cresting her breasts, and the dip of her waist. As she rolled to face him more fully, his eyes riveted on the rise created by her ribcage above her hip.

Something dark rested there, and James frowned, studied the mottled spot on her side.

"James?"

He ignored her breathy question. Instead, he smoothed the linen over the spot, bent to look closer, but when he wasn't certain, he ran his hand down and under the hem of the garment.

Beth began to push at him, at his arm even as she squirmed away from him. James caught her wrist and stopped her movement. He searched her face then, looked for anything out of place, anything shaded a color other than her milky fairness that might provide an explanation. When she lay still, her face a sickly white, he moved the linen upward as he kept his eyes locked on hers. Once he had the fabric over her hip, he looked.

She was bruised along her left side, and James released her arm to turn her slightly. The bruises wrapped around to her back, were slightly darker there. Furious, James wondered if Will ever swung with anything other than his right fist, especially since her blacked left eye weeks earlier meant it was likely Will led with his right.

He rolled her, careful to be gentle, careful not to hurt her further. There were no other bruises. Easing her onto her back, James fought back the urge to dress and go beat the hell out of Will. It occurred to him that it might not be Will, though, so he bit out, "Who did this, Beth?"

For a moment he thought she wouldn't answer. "I shouldn't have come," she whispered, and James's temper ticked up at her evasion.

"Answer the question," he demanded.

"It's none of your concern, James," she replied, and he heard a hint of fear. He breathed harshly and tried to control himself.

"On the contrary, Beth," he said, and she flinched a little at his low, angry tone. "Your sister asked me to look out for you. She said Will had hurt you."

A look of confusion appeared on her face, and then her expression cleared. "Arie." He was taken aback that she had to think about who might have said such a thing to him. She lifted her chin. "Arianna had no right."

"She had every right," he ground out. "If Will is hurting you—"

"There's nothing anyone can do," she finished with an eerie calm. "I am his wife. I have no more rights than his slaves do."

The last was bitterly said. James almost corrected her, but she was, to a certain extent, right. He changed tack. "How long, Beth?"

He could tell she intended to play ignorant, so he gave her a hard stare.

"Arie saw him strike me before the wedding, but it was only recently that it became more serious."

James reached out and cupped her cheek. He couldn't help but wonder if it was only unmarked because Will had learned a lesson the last time he left a visible mark on her. "Why, Beth?"

Her face crumpled, and she stared at his chest. "Because I don't please him," she said on a sob.

James pulled her back to him and held her while she cried some more; all the while his mind raced. She had told him the same thing when he asked her the week before why she had been a virgin after so many months of marriage. He wondered what she might have done that made Will think he should strike her—and more than once, at that. Had she made other social faux pas? Had she done something that embarrassed him? Was it because she spent time with the slaves? James finally gave up speculating what he had no intention of asking and just let her cling to him and cry.

When the tears stopped, he continued to hold her. After a while, he asked, "How badly has he hurt you?"

"James—"

"Answer me," he said tersely.

"At first he only slapped me," she said quietly. "Then he began to hit me." James wondered what the distinction was, but he presumed it was the difference between an open hand and a closed fist. "Normally, he doesn't hit me where it can be seen," she continued, "but last time, he was so angry he forgot."

_Forgot?_ James thought again of the day she visited Mama Martine, remembered Katy had claimed it was to seek information about medicines that would kill pain. He remembered that she had supposedly had an accident that accounted for her bruises and that he had thought then she might have taken a punch. "Katy said you fell down the stairs."

Beth went crimson, but she said nothing, and that confirmed for James that she had done no such thing. "Have you told Robert or Helen?"

She shook her head and looked out at the trees beyond the window. "Robert came to see me while I was . . . indisposed. I heard him later tell Will he had to stop hurting me."

There were several questions James wanted to ask, but he held them in. He slowly slid an arm around her. "You are welcome at Oak Point any time."

He felt her stiffen. "You know I cannot."

No, he acknowledged, she couldn't. He leaned over and pressed his mouth gently to hers. The truth was, if she took refuge at Oak Point, accusations would be made. "Have you written your brother? Told him?"

Even if South Carolina would not let her divorce Will, her family could press him to leave her be or to let her leave him. It was possible her brother could assist her with an annulment, but Beth might have to explain why Will had not consummated the marriage, and if she repeated her accusation that Will preferred men, she might find herself in even more danger.

Beth moved closer to him, settled her head in the hollow of his shoulder. "I've written, but I didn't tell Jorie about this." She tilted her head back and looked up at him then. "There's nothing that can be done."

"Your brother could either make Will stop or could take you away," he said.

"I have nowhere to go," she said. "When I came here, when I married him, I gave up my own property. What I kept is now, by your laws, Will's. I haven't the means to return to my family."

He nearly offered her the money. He had it, could afford her passage back home, but then he thought about something her brother had told him while he stayed with the Wilkinses before Beth's wedding. "Your brother said something had happened, that you were escaping painful memories."

One of Beth's hands came to rest on his chest as she lifted her head from his shoulder. "Did Jorie tell you the sordid details?"

There was a cold note in her voice. James got the impression that she would never allow him near her again if her brother had, so he was relieved he could honestly deny it. He shook his head. "He said it was your story to tell."

She nodded. He stared at her, waited, hoped she would tell him. As she stared back at him, he weighed how to formulate his question, and then he realized he knew the answer. He knew she hadn't been raped, hadn't had a previous lover. If there had been a scandal, it likely paled compared to the one that would ensue if anyone ever learned the two of them met one another alone, that they had engaged in sex. He suppressed a shudder as he realized that if Will truly beat her, he might do far worse if he ever learned that James had seduced his wife.

"James," she whispered. When he met her gaze, she looked afraid, but he was glad to see it wasn't of him. "You mustn't do anything."

"You can't go back," he countered.

She gave him a sad look. "I have to go back. You know that."

"Beth, he could hurt you far more badly than he already has." He tucked her head back against his shoulder, rested his cheek against the top of her head.

"I cannot go with you."

He sighed and breathed in the scent of woman, of sex, of lavender, and closed his eyes. For a moment, he imagined Beth was his, that he had the right to hold her, the right to keep Will from her, the right to take her to his own home. He swallowed thickly. She was right; he couldn't insist she went with him. As her husband, Will would have right on his side, and his temper flared again as he realized Will had used those very words at his table the night he likely put the bruises marring Beth's body on her.

"Promise you will do nothing, James," she said, and levered herself up so she could look down at him. "Promise me you will not confront Will about this."

Instinctively, James wanted to say exactly what he'd said to his mother in response to her question about Honoria: hell, no. The truth was, though, that he couldn't interfere in her marriage, and confronting Will would be seen as interference. James couldn't explain how he knew without exposing Beth to the possibility of worse treatment from her husband or without having to admit he'd seen her naked and how.

It simply infuriated him to be this impotent, and just as he was about to promise, he wondered why a man would beat a woman who claimed she held even more damaging secrets about him than the fact he beat her.

His eyes narrowed as he met Beth's expectant gaze. "Tell me again, Beth," he bit out, "why you were a virgin more than a year after your marriage."

Her breath hissed in, and James saw the flash of pain in her eyes. It wasn't hard to read her, wasn't at all difficult to realize she thought he mocked her, and perhaps he did. The truth was that he was no longer certain what to believe.

"He doesn't want me," she repeated in a soft, pained voice. "That isn't why he does this, James. Will has a temper, one I suspect not everyone sees. He's far more spoiled than a crown prince, and when he's thwarted, he strikes out." She swallowed, looked away. "I thwarted him."

Curious and, James admitted, still doubtful, he asked, "How?"

"It appears he thought he was marrying a woman like my mother." She sat up then, and James sat up as well. "Even you knew the stories, James," she reminded him. "My mother's life is one of no boundaries, no control. She plays dangerously, and Will expected the same." Her eyes closed and a breath sighed out. "I'm not, nor will I ever be my mother."

"Beth—"

She cut him off. "No." She bit her lip, shook her head. "I don't wish to speak of my marriage, James. I made a poor choice when I decided to marry Will, and I have to live with that choice. You must not interfere."

Angry, he flung himself back on the mattress and flung an arm over his face. He didn't want to admit he could do nothing, nor did he want her returning to Hart's Crossing.

"Promise, James," she said with a bit more steel. "Promise you will let it rest, or this stops now."

He shifted his arm and looked at her. Beth's chin had a stubborn set to it, and it was clear that despite her unhappiness, she meant what she said. James couldn't fathom it, and it made his anger at Will turn on her. "Perhaps it should."

A look appeared on her face, one that told him she felt more betrayed than she did by Will's fists. James nearly apologized, but then he decided he wouldn't. "I'll let it rest, as you ask, Beth, but I'm not at all sure why I should continue to give you anything more."

Once again she paled, and she shifted, drew her knees up to hide her body from him, and looked away from him. Her eyes screwed tightly shut, and from the tenor of her breathing, he was certain she fought back tears. About to give in, he stopped when she moved off the bed. "As you wish."

He did nothing to stop her, simply watched as she dressed once more. James didn't offer to help when she had difficulty, and all the time he bargained with himself. If she'd give up this nonsense, he'd take her back. If she looked at him, he'd apologize, tell her he'd do whatever she wished. If she agreed to leave Will, he'd protect her.

As she picked up her boots, James realized he could do none of those, and when he heard the cabin door close behind her and her boots cross the wooden porch, he wished he'd never said a word, wished he'd simply made love to her and ignored the marks Will had left on her.


	8. Chapter 8

14

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 8 **

_Women._

James rolled over once more and tried to get comfortable. It was sweltering hot, which didn't help since it reminded him of his argument with Beth.

That was his own fault, but damn her, she should have let him shelter her, should have let him at least have a word with Will about the bruises he'd left on her.

Of course, that would mean he'd have to admit he'd seen them, and then Will would call him out and no one would forgive him when he killed his lifelong friend, least of all the Camerons or his mother.

He was fairly certain Beth wouldn't like it, either, even if she didn't love her husband.

Heaving a heavy sigh, James rolled onto his back. Beth hadn't said she didn't love Will, though. She'd said she made a poor choice in marrying him, and that was hardly the same thing.

James preferred to think she didn't love her husband.

If she didn't love her husband, then what they'd done was easier to dismiss and to justify, was somehow less a betrayal of Will, whom James thought did not love his wife in return. At least it made it easier for James to soothe his suddenly active conscience, especially in light of the fact that Will had failed to bed her. For a moment, James wondered if that made the marriage invalid, was pretty sure it did since Beth should be able to get an annulment on those grounds.

Then again, Will was never going to admit he'd failed to consummate his marriage, especially not if what Beth claimed was true, so it would be her word against his. Even if she tried to prove her claim, if there was a way to prove whether or not she was still a virgin, then she would have to explain why she was no longer chaste.

For his part, James thought he could weather the accusations and the gossip, but he worried about what it would do to Katy and their mother. Helen Cameron and James's mother were the oldest of friends, had known one another since childhood, and were best friends. This would end that. He knew Helen well enough to know he would not be forgiven, that she would see both he and Beth were punished, and that meant his mother and Katy would also pay for his indiscretion since he was certain she would blame his mother for failing to impress upon him that adultery was forbidden. That, he would not allow.

Rolling over yet again, James punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

_Women_, he thought again as sleep finally seemed about to overtake him. Men might think they ran the world, but they only ran the parts women left them. Sometimes he thought things might run far more smoothly if the female sex simply let them be in charge the way God clearly intended it.

-X-

After two weeks, James realized Beth had finally decided to take precautions. Unfortunately, they were against him, not Will. He never saw her alone and noticed she was always accompanied by one of the Camerons when she left Hart's Crossing. He also noticed Will was seldom among her companions.

Twice he saw the black mare she often rode with a woman in a green habit on its back. He nearly went after her, but, fortunately, he realized before he did that the rider was Honoria, not Beth.

That further convinced him Beth had decided at last to stay away from James. It also irritated him that he felt like a jilted bride, a particular epiphany he had at a party given by the Hendersons where Beth never once looked his way. His mother and Katy had accepted the Henderson's invitation on James's behalf because the youngest Henderson, Tobias, had taken an obvious liking to Katy.

Young Toby was a nice enough kid, James mused, as he watched the man talk to his sister, but he was pretty sure Katy wasn't in love with him. She was making an effort, James noted, but he realized as he saw Lydia Cameron and Beth walking up from the gardens to the dance floor the Hendersons had erected outside that he wouldn't let Katy marry a man of whom she wasn't fond. Beth's bland expression as she listened to her sister-in-law chatter made James wonder what she hid behind that blank mask, and he knew he didn't want Katy to become like her, didn't want her to marry where there was more risk than there might otherwise be.

It wasn't because Beth had betrayed her husband, James thought. It was that she tried to be what she was not, presumably to keep Will from harming her. He didn't think Toby Henderson was the kind to beat his wife, but the boy's oldest brother was certainly a violent man. For that matter, Toby's brothers were notorious for thinking with their fists. It was true, too, that James had never thought Will Cameron would ever prove to be a man who would beat his wife. In truth, James mostly worried that Katy might find herself married to an outwardly charming man who would abuse her.

No, James didn't think a Henderson would make a good husband for his sister, and it might be time to interfere if there was any chance Katy might decide to settle for Toby. It was true the Hendersons had wealth, more than the Wilkinses had, but it was also true that as the youngest son, Toby was unlikely to inherit more than a small share of the family money. Katy, James knew, was used to more than the man could likely provide.

He watched Michael Henderson grab Beth's arm as she and Lydia were about to walk past him and Will. Even from where he stood, James could see the way the man's huge hand gouged its fingers into her flesh. He felt his jaw tighten, and it was all he could do not to march over and demand that Michael let her go.

But that was Will's job, and Beth's husband suddenly appeared more interested in the contents of his glass than his wife's discomfort.

As he watched, Michael pulled Beth onto the dance floor, and then he proceeded to demonstrate how in his cups he likely was. Beth's face, James noticed, remained pale and impassive as she moved through the figures Michael made little pretense of following. James considered cutting the man's hands off when they touched parts of Beth they shouldn't—and it was clear those hands weren't doing so by accident, especially since it was evident Beth tried to evade them but couldn't. His eyes narrowed as he remembered what Michael had said the night Beth stumbled and James had his first suspicions that her husband might abuse her. He wondered if Michael simply pretended to be more drunken than he actually was so that he could publicly violate Beth.

He didn't want to consider that Will might allow the man to privately do so.

James was only partly relieved that Robert decided to rescue his daughter-in-law, escorted her to a refreshment table so that, presumably, she could regain some of the composure that had started to slip as she struggled to avoid Michael's groping hands. It infuriated James that Will laughed when Michael rejoined him.

"Why is he not angry?" James heard Katy ask from beside him. He'd been unaware she'd joined him. He looked down at his sister, saw her frown at the two men opposite them.

After finishing his claret in order to buy the time to give a calm answer, James admitted, "I don't know, Katy." He wanted to rip the man's arms off, knew that if he were Beth's husband, he would never have allowed that to go beyond Michael's first inappropriate touch—assuming the oldest Henderson had even had the opportunity to make that touch in the first place. James, mostly likely, would never have agreed to let Michael claim a dance with Beth to begin with.

"Why does Anna-Elizabeth not fight back?"

Katy's quiet question was one James had pondered since he first saw those bruises on Beth. There had to be a way for her to free herself of Will, or at least avoid the worst of his abuse, but she didn't seem to be looking for one. He supposed her lack of personal resources might account for that, or it could be the public humiliation she would likely suffer if the sordid truth about her marriage had to be revealed in order to escape her husband.

"Because a woman has no real choice in the matter," James said to his sister before giving consideration to his own level of sobriety in the wake of that admission.

When Katy elected not to respond, he decided he had spoken the truth. There were no laws forbidding a husband from beating his wife. Beth had been truthful when she claimed that as Will's wife she had about the same rights as his slaves did. If she ever managed to successfully leave Will, she would not be welcome anywhere, and she would be even more friendless than she currently appeared.

James would stand by her, but then the damage would ripple out to his own family. He knew he couldn't do that to his mother and sister, couldn't cost them friends they might well need, especially with war once more looming in their colony. After all, the British had taken Savannah, and the Continental Congress had admitted it lacked the resources to adequately protect South Carolina from the British. Not, James thought, that they needed protection from their rightful government, but the Congress had proposed arming slaves, which no planter could seriously countenance, especially not after the Stono Rebellion in the thirties.

As the evening wore on, James found a quiet place on the edge of both the gardens and the woods, and took a seat on the carved bench beneath an old, spreading oak. He stretched his legs and wondered if he could find a way to make amends with Beth. He missed her, and not just her body.

It was dark, and James's attention was turned inward, so when someone sat beside him, it startled him. A hand settled in the bend of his elbow, as he turned to see Beth.

He didn't say a word, simply leaned over and kissed her.

"I feel I owe you an apology," she said softly.

One side of his mouth hooked up. "I'm the one who should apologize," he corrected. "You were in the right."

She leaned into him, then, remained silent, and James liked the feel of her head against his shoulder. After a while, she said, "Neither of us was in the right, James, not in what we did, but it is still true that you must not interfere."

The urge to argue was strong, but he held his tongue until he could moderate what he wished to say. "Perhaps you could seek an annulment," he offered.

"It would be my word against his," she countered, "and I doubt the Camerons would support my claim."

No, he thought, they wouldn't. It would humiliate them and expose what Beth claimed was Will's secret. If it were true and his parents knew, they would deny it if for no other reason than to protect their son. "Write your brother," he urged. "Beg him to come."

Beth's head lifted slowly from his shoulder; she looked up at him. "I have to make the best of this, James. There's nothing Jorie could do short of taking me away, and the scandal that would ensue would damage my family in ways we cannot afford." He nearly protested, but she offered with a sigh, "I do not wish to argue with you, and I certainly don't want to discuss this further. It is, James, and we must accept that it shall remain so."

"And what if Will goes beyond a few punches? What if he breaks bones?" he bit out, though he didn't voice his greatest concern: that Will might kill her. There were men who had managed to kill a wife and pay no penalty, primarily because the dead women had no family to insist on punishment. "What then?"

"James—"

He cut her off. "Am I supposed to stand aside while he lets Michael Henderson and other men touch you? Am I supposed to just stand there while they hurt you, too?"

Her hand squeezed, so he stopped there. "Let's not quarrel, James."

His sigh was rough with frustration.

"He doesn't let others touch me."

"I saw you with Henderson on the dance floor. Will did nothing to stop him," James growled.

After a moment, Beth said softly, "Will doesn't allow anyone near me except in public. I suspect he thinks all of you know how lacking in manners Michael Henderson is and that no one will think much of what he does to me. As long as it is only in public, I am protected."

James seethed. "If Will can go against how he was raised to strike you, what makes you think he'll prevent his friend from assaulting you?"

"Michael Henderson has no interest in privately assaulting me," she said quietly.

Taking her hand, James wondered how they had gone from apologies to this renewed argument. If she didn't see danger with Will, if she wouldn't admit there was danger there, and as long as there was little James could do, then continuing this argument was futile. He looked down at her, "Let's not argue," he agreed tightly, returning to her request for him not to do so. He wasn't going to persuade her to let him rescue her, so he might as well give in. Then he remembered the promise Princess Arianna had demanded of him when Beth married Will.

"Promise me this, though, Beth," he said after a moment. "If you are truly in danger, if Will's actions or lack of action threatens your life, promise that you will either come to me or send for me. Promise that you will let me interfere if for no other reason than your sister asked it of me."

"You do not play fairly," she said. She bit into her lower lip a moment, and then, to his surprise, she agreed. "If it is a matter of my life, then I will do as you ask."

Lifting her hand, he kissed it. He considered writing her brother himself, which he felt certain she would definitely not consider playing fair, but he wasn't sure where to address the letter.

Despite the unusual late spring heat, Beth gave a slight shiver, and James moved her hand to his other and wrapped an arm around her.

As he sat beside her, breathed in her scent, James realized how comfortable it felt, and he wondered if she thought the same—not that he was about to ask. What he did ask, though, was, "May I see you again?"

Almost immediately, he wished he could retract the question. It wasn't as if they were courting. Something had driven that question from him, though, and he realized it was born from how very much he'd wanted and missed her.

"You know we should not," she said, barely above a whisper.

He freed the hand she held onto and tipped her face to his. In the dark, he couldn't read her eyes, but her pale face didn't show regret or distaste or anything else to put him off. He bent, caught her mouth in a kiss that started friendly but turned surprisingly carnal. Her eyes were slow to open when he ended the kiss. "No, but we will."

"That certain, are you?" she whispered, and her mouth curled into a smile.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, and then he kissed her again, this time with some urgency. When they broke this kiss, both of them breathed faster. "Yes."

Her laugh was soft. "It appears you have reason," she conceded.

One of his fingers traced the edge of her gown's neckline. "It might be safer to say I've lost all reason," he confessed, "were it not for that fact that you seem to have done so as well."

This time she lifted her face and caught his lips, which was fortunate, for he would have thought that statement would have begun their argument again. He was normally more temperate in his comments, but somehow he always seemed to lose his head around this woman.

When she released him and stood, he stood as well. "I must go before I'm missed," she told him, and while he wanted to walk her back to insure her safety, to do so was dangerous. He caught her hands, pressed her fingertips to his lips and told her to be safe before he watched her go.

After he was certain she had enough to time to get back to the party, he took a more circuitous route. It occurred to him she hadn't actually agreed to meet him, but he decided to go to the Smallwood farm nonetheless.

Just as he neared the edges of the crowd, Honoria Cameron stepped out in front of him. "James," she said with a laugh. He answered her curtly and made to move on, mindful of what his mother had told him, but the girl grabbed his sleeve. "Oh, no," she said with a sly tone. "You mustn't be angry with me. I simply wanted to ask where you disappeared to."

"I went for a walk to clear my head," he told her and searched the crowd for someone with whom he could plead an urgent need to speak.

"Really?" she purred, and her hand stroked. James jerked his arm away. "I would have been happy to accompany you."

He turned on her then and said, uncaring if they were overheard, "If you've set you cap at me, Honoria, choose someone else. I've no interest in you, so you waste your time pursuing me."

She crossed her arms over her waist and tipped her head back and to the side. "Really, James? Think yourself that great a catch?"

"No, but I do have standards."

This time, she let him walk away. He was followed by her cat-ate-the-canary look, and James wondered what she thought she knew.

He hoped like hell she hadn't been skulking and seen or heard him with Beth.

-X-

As she had the last time, Beth arrived before him, but this time she was seated on the steps of the cabin when he rode in. It was probably smarter since she could claim she had ridden out, stopped at what she believed was an unoccupied farm and was simply resting. Of course, how she would explain that she'd taken the time to unsaddle her mare and leave her in the barn, he didn't know.

He didn't bother with the niceties once he'd unsaddled Ares and put him in his own stall. Instead, he simply scooped Beth off her step and strode with her inside. Perhaps, James thought as he let her pull his head down for a kiss, he'd be wiser to not say a word this time.

As a result, he simply and efficiently stripped her of her boots and garments, and helped her do the same to him. When they were both naked, he lay her back on the bed and braced his body over hers. Meeting her eyes, he was tempted to say something, but he didn't, decided to let his body do the talking.

As James kissed her, her hands glided along his skin, and he figured she had made a similar decision. As he kissed along her jaw, her hands stroked over his shoulders and chest. While his mouth nipped down her throat, he decided there was no reason his own hands shouldn't enjoy the pleasure of touching her in return. He shifted his weight, allowed his right hand to roam along her curves, paused now and then to hold, to stroke, to entice. Beth returned the favor with her own hands.

When he entered her, she tilted her head back, her face flushed, and James watched her as he moved inside her. Her eyes opened slightly, and her lips parted. Her hands clutched, and James moved deeper, faster. Her eyes opened fully, and she grabbed his shoulders, sank her fingers into them as she met his thrusts. She cried his name as she flew apart, and James gasped hers as he followed.

His body pressed stickily against hers, and when he lifted slightly, he noticed their skin clung damply. He kissed her, and she smiled when he released her lips. "Your weather is not conducive to such exercise," she told him softly.

Grinning, James pressed another kiss on her. "There are worse ways to spend the heat of the day," he assured her.

A smile of her own answered his.

"If we were in your home," he asked, "what would the weather be like?"

"Hot as well," she admitted, "but not nearly as damp." James opened his mouth on her throat, licked at her moist, salty skin. "Of course," she continued, "if we were in the mountains, it would be a bit cooler."

"Aren't castles supposed to be big, drafty, cave-like things?"

She laughed. "I don't live in a castle, James," she assured him, and her fingers trailed down his shoulders. "Except when I'm in the capitol, and then I'm only a guest in one."

Rolling to his side, he took her with him, noted her disheveled state, and teased, "What kind of princess are you?"

Her smile was broad, and her brows drifted upward. "Apparently, a very bad one."

James settled himself a bit more comfortably, and she did so as well, though he noticed she kept her body slightly apart from his. Due to the heat, though, he didn't pull her closer. He did let his wrist settle on her hip, his hand mold over the firm curve of her backside. "How bad?" he asked.

Beth's tongue moistened her lips, and her own hand settled on his waist before gliding around to stroke up over his chest. "You tell me," she whispered as she moved so that she could kiss him.

"I've no knowledge of princesses," he told her gruffly, "but I find it hard to believe you'd be bad at anything."

"How very gallant of you," she told him, combed her fingers through the hair in the center of his chest before she kissed him again.

He gave her bottom a squeeze when she released his lips. "What is it a princess does, anyway?"

Her green eyes danced. "Many things," she assured him. When James merely raised his brows, she smiled. "Alright. We're mostly useless—except when it comes to handing out charity, watching parades, spending money, presiding over dinners, dancing." She stopped there a moment and her face clouded. Her eyes dropped to his chest then, and she added, "Marrying well."

Only she hadn't, James knew. Will might be wealthy, was certainly handsome, but he had not turned out to be much of a husband to her. James wondered if he had been able to marry her if she would be considered to have married well.

Smart enough not to ask, he lifted his hand, cradled her cheek, and lifted her face so he could give her a slow, gentle kiss. It would be best to not to mention marriage, after all, might begin their quarrel once more, so when he released her mouth, he told her, "Don't move."

James got out of bed, and pulled on his trousers. Beth sat up, was clearly about to protest when he leaned in and kissed her swiftly. "I'll be right back," he promised.

It didn't take long to find what he needed, nor did it take him long to accomplish his task and return.

Beth had pulled the sheet over her, and he shook his head with a wry grin. "A little late for modesty, don't you think?"

"You're the one who put his pants on," she reminded him.

He snorted, amused, and took them back off before seating himself on the bed and reaching for her sheet. She let him tug it free, and then he reached for the bit of flannel next to the basin of cool water he'd set on the chest beside the bed. He dipped the cloth in the water, wrung the excess from it, and touched it to the bare skin above her left breast. Beth flinched moment, the cold well water probably a shock against her heated body, but as it warmed and James stroked it over her, her eyes closed. Beth appeared to take pleasure from his ministrations, so he continued, paused only to cool the cloth again in the water before moving it over her skin. When he had finished her torso and throat, she opened her eyes again and took the cloth from him.

By then the water had warmed a little, and when she knelt on the mattress beside him and bathed him in return, he watched her face, noted her soft smile as she moved the cool, damp cloth over him. Aware of his gaze, she lifted her eyes from his body to his face, and James leaned into her, opened his mouth over hers, and coaxed her to open her own. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and hers went around his neck. He pulled her astride his lap and against his body before instigating the kind of exertions that meant they were soon sweaty once more.

This time, he didn't accompany Beth to the edge of Hart's Crossing where it would increase the risk that they would be seen. Instead, he kissed her one last time before lifting her into her saddle. She reached down, cradled his cheek again and gave him a soft smile. James's own hand traced down her side to rest on her hip. "Take care," he said softly.

"And you," she replied before urging her mare away.

-X-

The following week, he was nearly ready to set out when Will rode up the lane. He swallowed an exasperated sigh and put a smile on his face before greeting his old friend. After Will handed over the reins of his horse, he climbed the steps to join James, who led him into the house. Bess brought tea and Will's favorite biscuits to James's study, and he reconciled himself to disappointing the other man's wife.

Uncertain why Will had chosen this day and time to visit, James made himself comfortable, responded to the conversational gambits Will offered, and generally waited for the man to explain the purpose of his visit.

Thankfully, it wasn't long coming.

If he hadn't known Will so well, James might have accepted what followed as truth. As Will began to spin his lie, James watched for and caught all the signs his old friend failed to tell the truth. Parts of it were undoubtedly true. Anna-Elizabeth had not adjusted well to the country, Will told him. She had not adjusted well to a household where she was not fully mistress—James marked that last as a half-truth at best. Anna-Elizabeth, because of her past, had trouble accepting her duties as a wife. Given James knew Will had not, apparently, demanded her primary duty from her, he wondered what that meant, but he said nothing. When Will started to go into more detail, James reminded him, "This is none of my business, Will."

Will grimaced. "It may become your business, James. Anna-Elizabeth is not a stable woman. She . . . imagines things."

James had all he could do to not call Will the liar he obviously was, especially when the knuckles of the hand with which he raised his glass were bruised. As a result, he was certain that even had his old friend not waylaid him, he would have arrived at the cabin only to wait in vain for Beth's arrival. "I'm sorry to hear that, Will," he said as neutrally as he could manage.

What James dearly wanted was to pay Will back with his own coin, provide him with bruises to more than match those he'd left on Beth—in the past and, apparently, more recently.

His friend sipped his tea and then nibbled a biscuit. Clearly, James thought, he wasn't so distraught his appetite suffered. "It's sad that such a beautiful woman can be so flawed."

In his eyes, Will's wife was not flawed—except, perhaps, in terms of her judgment since she had chosen to marry the man across from him and refused to leave him. This was a conversation James did not want to have, could not have without betraying his own feelings for Beth, so he simply said, "That is a shame." Then he chose to pick up on something Beth had told him. "I understand princesses are a mostly useless lot of women."

There would be time later to do penance for his guilt over that statement, but for now it appeared Will was willing to abandon the subject of his wife since he moved on to other topics, the price of rice, how the ships' captains and their agents charged criminal prices for their services, the price of indigo and whether or not the West Indies would be competition with the war and with blockades increasingly certain. James participated, glad to move away from personal topics.

After walking Will to the door, he watched the other man mount his horse and ride away. As he walked back to his study, he knew Beth would not have waited this long for him if she had gone to the Smallwood cabin, so he considered what Will had said. James had seen no evidence that something was wrong with Beth or that she suffered from delusions as her husband had hinted. On the other hand, he admitted he'd had difficulty believing the stories she had told him about Will, and Will had done nothing to lend credence to her tales. It was possible, James supposed that she had invented them to lure James into their affair.

On the other hand, Will had not touched his wife, and Beth had had bruises that someone's fists left on her. Today, Will's knuckles had been bruised in a way that indicated he'd hit someone—or, to be fair, some thing. Additionally, he'd sat in James's study and told a few obvious lies.

Abandoning what was left of the tea for whiskey, James found himself once more uncertain what he'd become involved in and what and whom he should believe.

A few days later, he met Honoria Cameron on the road to Pembroke early one morning. The young woman was mounted on Beth's mare. He started to simply ride past her, but she'd greeted him, and his sense of manners had forced him to curtly acknowledge her. She'd then given him a seductive smile that left him cold. "Come, now, James," she told him. "Surely you could be more . . . neighborly."

Ares danced slightly, and James controlled him. "I have an errand and a man to meet, Honoria, and you've no business riding alone. Surely you know better than to ride without an escort."

As she started to walk her horse toward him, James considered options. "Tell me, James," she said, her voice pitched to a low tone most men would find inviting. It left him cold. "Would you feel the same if you had encountered Anna-Elizabeth alone?"

His eyes narrowed, and he wondered if that was a guess or whether she actually knew. "I've repeatedly told your sister-in-law the same," he bit out, glad it was true and he would not betray himself with a lie.

Then he realized, as a wide smile split Honoria's face, that he had just admitted that he had seen Beth alone more than once. Fortunately, he'd been angry when he said it, so his expression didn't change when that anger shifted to himself.

"Really, James," she said with a laugh. "You fool no one."

"I have no idea what you mean, Miss Cameron," he bit coldly out.

"I've seen how you look at Anna-Elizabeth," she told him with a sly smile. "The entire parish has seen your avarice for my brother's wife. My question is: have you acted on it?"

"I'm a gentleman, Honoria." He meant the hissed words as a warning, not a lie.

Apparently, she read his statement as he intended. She gathered her reins and said, "I'm glad you've not betrayed Will, especially since Anna-Elizabeth is a pretty thing who apparently carries false tales about my family. I do hope she has not bothered you with them."

"I've rarely spoken to Will's wife," James returned easily, "and then only in company."

That particular lie appeared to pass muster since Honoria simply nodded and rode on. The rest of the way to Pembroke to pick up some goods for his mother and then meet an old friend, James seethed, alternated between anger at the Camerons and at himself. As a result, he was shorter with Mrs. Howard than he might otherwise be, and finally apologized for his curtness. She assured him it was alright, and James wondered if that was because she was a better businesswoman than her husband or because she was a woman who generally believed in the goodness of others. He did, though, genuinely regret his behavior.

As he rode for home, he wondered if he could still qualify as a good man given tomorrow he intended to meet another man's wife, would betray his best friend by enjoying that wife's body. It was then that James realized he could not go. If Honoria had her suspicions, then others likely did as well. It further occurred to him that the Camerons either suspected what was fact or at best believed Beth confided in him if she wasn't sleeping with him.

He considered how to send word for Beth to not go to the cabin on the morrow.

As it happened, he hadn't had to send word after all. When he returned to Oak Point, the Cameron's had arrived for lunch. James joined them, did his part as host, and he was pleased to see Anna-Elizabeth was with them. He considered whether he might be able to get a word with her alone or whether he should simply give an excuse, go to his office and write her a quick note he could pass her. None had been necessary, since Helen Cameron told James's mother that they were all headed to Charles Town the following morning.

Robert added, "Anna-Elizabeth's mother has arrived for a visit."

He looked at Beth then, who didn't appear very happy. "Will your charming sister accompany her?"

The corners of her mouth lifted, but she didn't seem at all happy. "One hopes."


	9. Chapter 9

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 9**

It had been a mistake to believe that the arrival of Beth's mother would buy James time and distance to think through what he and Beth had done—were doing. She and the Camerons had gone to Charles Town, and he'd been left blissfully alone. Then again, he missed her. He and Beth seemed to be finding their way through the complexities of what they were doing, and if he could just keep his mouth shut, he believed he might find a way to push Beth into trusting him enough to get her away from Will.

And in that way lay madness, James thought. Convincing her to leave Will would only create more problems. She couldn't divorce her husband, and if she left him, then she would be nearly as out of James's reach as she currently was. While he had already, essentially, taken her on as his mistress (for a second he pondered whether or not he had that backwards and then wondered if there was a name for the male equivalent), he would still be unable to marry her. The scandal, after all, would affect more than the two of them.

All of this was old ground, though, and he was tired of treading and retreading it. James accepted that he wasn't going to stop seeing Beth, and he tried hard to accept that she would not leave Will. He finally decided, as he wearily approached his home after a long day in the fields, that he might as well give up thinking about it. He had cuckolded his best friend, and James knew he would continue to do so. He might as well own up to it, to himself if to no one else.

As Beth had said at the Henderson's, it was. Their only choice was whether or not to stop. James didn't wish to, or at least not yet.

Entering through the back of the house, he looked forward to a wash if not an actual bath, clean clothes, and some of Bess's roast chicken. His mouth watered at the possibilities offered by the blackberries he knew she'd had several of the slave children gather earlier in the day.

He heard voices, indistinctly feminine voices, and he hoped they were not having company for supper since he was too tired to feel remotely social.

Lem met him on the landing outside his room. "Your bath's ready, Mr. James," his manservant said, and James watched two maids leave his bedchamber. That meant his mother expected him to be social. He sighed and peeled his sweaty, dirty shirt off before he asked the other man, "Who's downstairs?"

A flicker of something crossed Lem's face. "That princess."

There was an edge of horror there, so James assumed he didn't mean Beth, though he was unacquainted with any other princesses who might be in the area. "Princess?" He sat to yank off his boots and stockings.

"Mrs. Will's mama."

So they hadn't stayed in Charles Town for all of her visit, he thought. He grinned happily, knew this meant he could see Beth, even if he wouldn't have her alone. For a brief moment as he unbuttoned his trousers, he eyed the tub and wished he could invite Beth up to bathe him. He'd be willing share the water, he thought, remembered fondly stroking a damp cloth over her naked body.

He stripped the rest of his clothes and padded to the tub that, unfortunately, would never hold more than one person at a time and definitely hadn't been constructed for someone of his size. He considered how to best fold his long limbs into the heated water. He lingered a bit, let the warm water soak away a good day's work, and then used the cloth and the soap Lem had left him to get himself clean. He refused to consider that he lingered hoping events would move along downstairs so that he could avoid the worst of making nice with people he hadn't invited.

Afterward, he pulled on smalls and breeches, used the basin of hot water Lem had delivered while he bathed to shave before he dressed in the rest of the clothes his manservant had chosen for him then pulled on his boots. He adjusted his cuffs and reminded himself of Honoria's taunt, vowed not to be caught looking at Beth with the longing he generally felt in her presence, and finally left his room to go downstairs and join the others.

His eyes automatically sought Beth, but instead landed first on his mother. She looked as though she'd faint at any moment. James wondered what had caused that reaction, and continued to survey the other occupants of his drawing room.

It was easy to see where Beth's looks came from, he thought, as he glanced quickly past Helen and Robert to the woman who could only be Beth's mother. The Princess Falken had once been a beautiful woman, though she had the unfocused look of a woman who drank too much and slept too little. Her frame was gaunt, and he wondered if that was the aging process affecting the natural slimness Beth and her brother also shared or if it was forsaking food for drink. The woman smiled, but it did not inspire confidence.

He greeted Will and his parents, Honoria and her sisters, and Beth, who had that blank mask of hers in place. Katy looked embarrassed, and coupled with the look on his mother's face, James wondered what had been said before he arrived. Will smiled and introduced his mother-in-law.

Curious, James bowed, said, "A pleasure, Your Highness."

Another smile spread across the woman's face, and her eyes focused, sharpened on him.

"Mr. Wilkins," she said warmly with a nod. Her voice had a rough edge to it, similar to that he'd heard from men who smoked too much tobacco.

Before he could further consider that, little Arianna bounded into the room. The child had a wide grin when she stopped before him, and James smiled easily in return, bowed, and said, "Your Highness."

As the conversation among the others began again, Arianna dimpled and beckoned him to lean down. After he had done so, she told him softly, "This time, I brought my own pistol."

Unable to help himself, James laughed. It wasn't particularly funny, he supposed, though he half wished the girl would shoot someone, preferably Will. "My mother would never forgive you if you soiled her carpet."

"I'm more worried about your Bess," the little princess told him in a grim whisper.

James grinned. "And so you should be."

The child took his hand and drew him to one of the sofas, and James sat beside her. Beth was on the other side of Arianna, and he smiled, nodded across at her.

At that point, Robert Cameron engaged James in conversation.

Occasionally, Arianna would say something to her sister that James would catch, but Beth's responses were seldom audible. He was distracted by her closeness, though he was careful not to look at her. He wondered if it were possible to move his hand, place it somehow behind Arianna so that he could touch the child princess's sister.

_Madness_, the thought. It was madness to be this near her and still have her so far from reach.

When they went in to dinner, he found himself not his mother's escort but that of the Princess Falken. The woman wasn't incredibly steady on her feet, and James wondered once more if she was a drunkard. Beth had hinted at her mother's poor habits and behavior, but she'd been lacking in specifics. He'd gathered from rumors and from her own comments that her mother indulged in many destructive behaviors.

When he had seated Beth's mother, he went to his own chair and waited for the other ladies to take theirs before sitting.

Dinner was interminable. The usually irrepressible Arianna, seated on his left despite the rules of precedence, was subdued and spent most of dinner toying with her food and watching her mother, seated opposite her, with growing anxiety. Her mother mostly drank the wine one of the servants continually poured her and ignored her tablemates—except James.

It wasn't that she spoke to him, but more that more than once he found her slippered foot jerkily travelling over his boot, up his leg, and twice it managed to land very nearly in his lap. He tried to remove it without anyone being the wiser, but he caught Beth's eye the second time it happened. She paled, looked mortified, and he wondered if she knew what was happening below the table's surface.

James moved his chair slightly in hopes of placing himself mostly out of reach.

Because he was tired and not really in the mood for company and because it irritated him to be, well, _pawed_ by a woman who was now clearly drunk, he had a hard time remaining civil. His mother sent him a sympathetic glance or two, and as the fish course was replaced by the entrée, James wondered, given the various expressions on his unwanted guests' faces, if everyone at the table knew what was happening beneath the wooden surface. He fervently wished the meal was considerably further along. Dessert would be about right, he thought, irritably, since that would mean his torment would soon be over.

Will drew James's mother's attention, and Arianna touched his hand and leaned toward him. James leaned down and smiled when she sincerely told him, "I will loan you my pistol, if you like."

"Who do wish me to shoot?" he asked softly.

"Will would be nice, but at the moment, I think Maman might be a better choice."

He wondered if she was aware her mother's foot was once more pressed against his knee. He moved his leg, and the sound of her mother's soled slipper hitting the floor was mostly muffled by the thick rug beneath the table. Arianna dimpled, raised her brows and returned her attention to her plate.

James was again left wondering at the number and quality of women in his life and how he came to be so plagued by the fairer sex.

He was relieved when the women left them, and James relaxed, spoke to Will and his father until they inevitably had to join the others. He was dismayed to find the only open seat was next to Beth's mother. He could hardly be so rude as to refuse to sit there, but he feared what might happen if he did.

Fortunately, the Princess Falken seemed determined to finally behave herself. Will was his usual charming self, though James sat with gritted teeth as he regaled them with tales from Charles Town. Will's charm had worn thin from the moment James had first seen those bruises on Beth.

"You have a lovely home," the Princess Falken said to him, and James turned to look at her. Her eyes were a grey-green, and this close they appeared far sharper than he had thought. It made him wonder if she played a particular role and what the advantage to her might be if everyone believed her the kind of dissolute sot she appeared to be.

"Thank you, Your Highness," he said cautiously.

Her hand came to rest of his forearm. "Please, call me Audrianna."

There was no way in hell, thought James as he schooled his features and sidestepped the invitation. "You have lovely daughters."

Her smile was broad. "I despair that Anna-Elizabeth will ever have the strength of character to match her beauty."

James nearly choked on the anger that chased that statement. As near as he could tell, except for her weakness with him and except for her tolerance of Will's abuse, Beth had more strength of character than her mother was apparently willing to grant.

The Princess's smile turned mocking. "I understand you are the friend who was supposed to accompany Anna-Elizabeth's husband to Europe."

He nodded, wondered if he could pull the arm her hand kneaded away without appearing unforgivably rude.

Her head tilted, and she studied him with eyes a paler version of Beth's. "I wonder what might have happened had you been available to accompany your friend."

James was, for possibly the first time in his life, glad to have Honoria address him. The Princess's hand slipped from his arm as she turned to engage Will in conversation. James civilly answered Honoria's loaded question about his marriage prospects with what was becoming his standard refrain: "I've yet to meet the right woman."

Before Honoria could add whatever politely-worded, cutting remark she clearly had prepared, the Princess Falken said, "I shall have to find a husband for Arianna soon."

The very air changed in quality at this announcement, and it was apparent he wasn't the only one appalled. He knew the child was not yet ten, was in fact, not quite nine, and the idea of finding a husband for her was ludicrous. He further doubted the Princess Audrianna was the best judge of character, all things considered. Beth went the white of freshly carved marble, and James felt sympathetic. He wouldn't have been pleased to see his own sister married off before she was old enough to have a say in the decsion.

His mother, thankfully, changed the subject, and no more was said about matrimonial prospects.

-X-

After their company returned to Hart's Crossing, James retired to his study for some much-needed whiskey. He thought he'd come out of that relatively unscathed, but despite the fact he should retire for the evening since he had another long day ahead of him, the compulsion to drink was strong. As he splashed whiskey in a glass, he thought that with any luck, the Princess Falken would not remain in the area long, and if she did, he would simply have to hope he could evade having to spend any further time in her company.

"You might as well pour me a sherry, James," his mother told him briskly as she glided into the room behind him.

He did as she asked, brought it to her, and took the chair on the other side of the small side table beneath the window from the one she had claimed.

"I take back anything uncharitable I might have said about Anna-Elizabeth," his mother said. Her voice was exhausted, and James couldn't say he blamed her. "That poor girl's mother is enough to whiten one's hair."

Because he was a gentleman, James refrained from commenting, though he noted his mother seemed to have changed her tune about Beth. He wondered what the cause of that might be.

"That sister of hers is better behaved than their mother. I'm surprised she's not a complete and utter savage if she's been raised by that woman."

James snorted, amused at his mother's view. Most likely, Arianna had been raised by nursemaids and nannies, much as he had been, but he wasn't about to tell his mother that since she prided herself on having raised good, dutiful children. Besides, he liked Beth's little sister, and he admitted that liking colored how he viewed his mother's comments regarding her. At least Arianna was probably the most honest person to have shared his drawing room that evening. "I find the little princess charming."

"She's a bloodthirsty child," his mother said, her voice laced with a faint horror, "what with all that threatening to shoot people nonsense."

Lifting his whiskey to hide his desire to laugh, he watched as his mother gave him her best stern look.

"I'm certain you've encouraged that child."

"Not recently, Mother," he said, setting his glass on the table, "though I admit I offered her a pistol at her sister's wedding when she asked if I had any." So it wasn't completely true, he thought, but he kind of enjoyed his mother when she got on a rant that wasn't directed at him.

What he didn't expect was for his mother's face to turn serious rather than exasperated. "There's something going on with Will and Anna-Elizabeth," she told him, "but I'm not sure what it is. It's more than obvious that marriage is not a happy one."

She had given him an opportunity, but James found he couldn't quite exploit it. "I think neither of them have lived up to their expectations of one another."

"Is that why you've become so reluctant to find a wife?"

He stretched his booted feet, crossed them at the ankles and carefully weighed his words. James couldn't say he'd ever been all that enthusiastic to settle down, but he knew better than to say that to his mother. However, her question provided him the perfect excuse to put her off matchmaking, though he might have to own up to knowing more than he should about Will's marriage. "It's true I want to be happy in my marriage," he admitted, "and it's true that Will's has made me consider my choices more carefully than I might otherwise have done, but the truth of the matter is, Mother, that I simply haven't met a South Carolina girl I can imagine as my wife."

"Perhaps I should have sent you to Europe when Will went after all," she mused, "or perhaps you could have visited my family in Montreal or your father's in Antigua."

"Perhaps," he allowed, but only because it would keep her from encouraging him to do so now, "but there will be time later."

His mother lifted her glass and eyed him in a manner that could only be described as skeptical. "You're thirty-one, James, and you're not getting younger. I don't want to see you become one of those bachelors who one day find they spent all their time making their fortunes, tending to their plantations and businesses only to discover that they've no one to share it with or to leave it to."

"If it comes to that," he observed, "then presumably Katy will have children who can take Oak Point."

As she set her now-empty glass on the table, she folded her hands in her lap. "There may not be the time you believe, James. I know you intend to fight for our King, and if you do, indeed, you might lose your life in his service. While I would be proud that you were man enough to stand by your sovereign, I would not be happy to know you did not do your duty to your family."

"Mother—"

"No," she said, held up a hand to cut him off, "you have your duty to our King, it is true, and I know you will do it, but by not providing an heir, you jeopardize your sister's future and mine. Real honor, real glory, does not come on a battlefield but in a life well-lived."

He considered her words. It was true that the first part of what she said was certainly the way their people saw it, and it was certainly the way he would be judged, but he doubted anyone other than a woman would attribute honor and glory to being a good husband. "The rebels are attacking those of us who remain loyal to the crown."

"I'm well aware, James." His mother studied him. "It's only a matter of time before they come for you, I suppose."

It was something he had refused to think about too much. Several loyalists had left, had moved to Charles Town where they hoped the watchful eyes of neighbors would help keep them safe or had simply stayed close to home and hoped for the best. James had taken care not to be too vocal, not to say anything in company he could not trust. "I hope it doesn't come to that, Mother."

"Hoping will not make it so."

He had no response for her, but it appeared she didn't expect one.

Instead, she gave him another steady look. "I'm told you are making regular visits to that new farm you purchased."

It was doubtful she knew the truth, James reminded himself, but it was entirely possible someone had noted he went at nearly weekly intervals—except when he was sidetracked by Will or by Beth's absence. He suspected the stable hands had mentioned something that had made its way to Bess who, as usual, had told his mother.

Unwilling to admit it, he said simply, "There are decisions to be made regarding the property."

"I'm not a simpleton, James." His mother's voice was dry. "If you are meeting someone, just, please God, let it not be Honoria Cameron."

"It isn't," he assured her, and then he realized he had just admitted he was, indeed, meeting someone there.

"Tread carefully, James. I will not welcome Honoria as a daughter-in-law no matter how much regard I have for her mother."

James had to stop himself from pointing out that she would have no choice in the matter if he chose to marry the girl, but since he had no intentions of doing so regardless of what Honoria might try to engineer, he remained silent. He vowed he would refuse to do what society might demand as the honorable thing if she succeeded in entrapping him.

His mother stood then, and James stood as well. She reached up to place her palms on his cheeks and exerted just enough pressure to get him to bend toward her. She kissed his cheek for the first time in years and said, "I love you, James, but I worry about you."

He couldn't give her the response she so clearly wanted, and as she left him and began to ascend the stairs, he wondered how she might receive Beth if she were free of Will and James were able to convince her to marry him.

-X-

The Wilkinses were invited to dinner at Hart's Crossing a few days later, but James went only because of his mother's threats. He was working long hours, and the last thing he needed was a late evening trying to be civilized to members of a family for whom he was increasingly contemptuous.

Beth's mother seemed more sober this time, but that didn't last. He found himself seated beside her at supper, and he had to ward off her hand rather than her foot this time. Honoria, who sat across from him seemed to find it amusing.

Frustrated, James wished the Camerons had allowed Arianna at table if for no other reason than he suspected the little princess might provide him some intelligent conversation if not a suitable diversion.

It was another of those evenings when Beth was simply silent. Once more she was like a living statue as the after-dinner conversation washed over her. No one, not even her mother, directly addressed her, either. The only time she moved was when a pretty little maid entered and bent, whispered something in her ear, and she excused herself to follow the girl upstairs. Watching her go, James wondered what that was about.

"My youngest is likely unwilling to settle for the night," the Princess Falken said, noticing he still stared at the stairway visible through the open drawing room door.

James wondered why she had not gone herself, why the maid had fetched Beth rather than her mother.

Apparently, she understood his unasked question. "Arianna misses her sister, so she takes shameless advantage of Anna-Elizabeth's fondness for her." Leaning toward him, she said softly enough no one else would overhear, "I suspect you take equal advantage."

He could feel the heat wash up his face. James would have sworn he'd done nothing to give his feelings for Beth away, and he sincerely doubted Beth had confessed to her mother.

She smiled broadly at him, patted his arm and said softly, "I may be a drunkard, Mr. Wilkins, and I may like my opium, but because I do so enjoy your sex, I know a lovesick man when I see one. It was simple deduction as to whom the source of that sickness is."

"Your Highness," he began tersely but she stopped him.

"Don't get on your high horse, Mr. Wilkins. Anna-Elizabeth is, as you said the other evening, lovely, and not simply in her looks. She wants so badly not to be me, but I'm afraid her breeding will out."

The woman's comments offended James on Beth's behalf. He simply couldn't imagine Beth becoming like this woman.

"Take my advice," she added. "Anna-Elizabeth will destroy herself trying to do what is right despite her inherent weakness. Save her from herself. Leave her be."

With that, she turned to engage Robert Cameron in a discussion of horse breeding that appalled the man's wife.

It left James with much to consider, not the least of which was the number of people who seemed to have figured out how he felt about Will's wife.

At the end of the evening, after he had helped his mother and sister into their carriage, James went to mount his horse. He'd been late in from the fields and so had followed them over once he'd had the opportunity to clean up. He was partially down the oak-lined lane when a small figure darted out from behind one of the oaks. He reined in Ares as he recognized Arianna.

"We leave tomorrow," she panted, and James realized she had probably run to intercept him. He had no idea how she had escaped the house unseen and unpursued. "We're going north," she added. "Maman wants to visit Mal and Jorie before we try to go home again."

The war was mostly being waged in the north, so James questioned the Princess Falken's judgment.

"I want to stay here—for Beth."

"I cannot control that," James told her.

"No," she sighed, and he nearly smiled at her disgruntlement, "but I need you to watch out for her since I can't."

Ares danced a moment, most likely because he was as eager as James to reach home. When James had him under control, he looked at the little girl, realized that princess or not, she had no more control over her destiny than any other woman generally did, less so since she was still a child. "I have kept my promise."

"And yet Will still hurts her."

It irritated him to be taunted by a child. "She will not let me interfere," he admitted, and he was about to bluntly explain reality to the little girl when she put her fists on her hips and gave him a look that should have been well beyond her years.

"And she will never ask you to," she told him. "My sister believes in lying in the bed one has made, so it is up to us to save her."

"I cannot interfere in her marriage," he said tightly, wondered why he bothered to argue with the child rather than send her on her way or cart her back to the house and turn her over to the servants who should have kept a better watch on her.

"Arie!" he heard Beth say breathlessly as she came to a stop nearby. "Whatever possessed you to leave the house at this time of night—and in your nightclothes?"

"I needed to speak to James," her sister said, and only then did Beth look up at him. In the moonlight, he would have sworn she blushed.

"Neither of us should be abroad," Beth said, her voice still a little breathless. "I apologize, Mr. Wilkins."

He noticed she emphasized his formal title, probably for Arianna's sake, as he swung out of the saddle. "May I escort you back?"

What James wanted was to take her in his arms, and the only thing that stopped him was little Arianna's avid gaze. That and the possibility others might have followed Beth.

Her face was easy to read, and she was about to refuse, send him on his way, but her sister took the choice from her. "That's very kind of you." Arianna smiled broadly at him even as Beth frowned at her.

When Arianna danced ahead of them, the white of her nightgown standing out in the moonlit darkness, James gestured for Beth to precede him. Instead, she fell into step next to him.

"I am sorry," she said.

"I'm not." He smiled when she shot him a look. "I've missed you."

"And I you." She kept her eyes on her sister who skipped some ten yards ahead of them.

James put a hand out, stopped her. "Do not go to the farm again," he warned softly. "I'm afraid others have figured out I meet someone there."

She nodded, turned her face to his.

"Unfortunately, they seem to think it's Honoria." He regretted saying that since her expression turned to revulsion. "I will not risk our discovery, Beth, especially since it will only cause you more harm."

Nodding again, Beth walked forward once more.

"One day later," he offered. "At the tree where I first kissed you."

She nodded again, and then she stopped, turned to face him. "I worry that if we are discovered, James, that you, too, shall pay an unbearable price."

He placed a palm on her cheek. "No price is too high to pay for time with you," he told her softly. He bent then, claimed Beth's lips. After a moment, she returned his kiss.

A giggle made them jump apart. "You should have married James," Arianna said. She shook her head and added with a grin, "I told you so."

Instinctively, James wanted to berate her, to threaten her to be silent about what she had just witnessed, but then it occurred to him that the child had proven she was a force of nature and that she was more likely to tell if she was ordered not to than she was if they said nothing to her.

Apparently, she recognized his torn instincts. "I'll not tell," she promised, looking squarely at James. "I don't want Will to hurt Beth again, and I don't want you to quit being her friend."

"Arie!" Beth said on a scandalized whisper.

"I won't, and I don't," the child insisted.

"Perhaps I should leave you to return on your own," James said stiffly.

Beth nodded, caught Arianna's hand and said a soft, "Goodnight."

Arianna, though, proved she had a mind of her own. She pulled loose from her sister's grip and ran to James, threw her arms around his waist and squeezed. He dropped his free hand onto her shoulder and let her hug him. When she released him, she tipped her face to his and said with a bright grin, "You may bribe me by promising to take care of Beth."

He laughed softly. "I believe we already covered that."

The child then added, "You may kiss me goodnight, and then you had best go before someone comes looking for us."

He released Beth's hand, bent and brushed a kiss against her sister's forehead and was about to take his leave when the little princess changed her terms. "Don't forget to kiss Beth goodnight, too."

"Arie!"

James figured they had nothing to hide, so he caught Beth's hand again and pulled her close enough to press a quick kiss on her lips before he released her and said, "Both of you head for the house. Now."

When they were out of sight, he mounted his horse and headed for Oak Point.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that they could have easily been seen, and that he had taken a foolish risk kissing Beth in the open. He hoped like hell no one had seen or heard any of that.


	10. Chapter 10

A day early because I've got to be on the road tomorrow . . . .

* * *

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 10**

James arrived at the tree on the riverbank first. He waited impatiently for Beth to appear. Ares, on the other hand, he thought with disgust, appeared perfectly content to placidly pull grass and eat it. The horse had no other care in the world, it appeared. He eyed his horse and wondered where that kind of calm came from. Then again, Ares was never going to fully enjoy the company of a female, so perhaps the animal simply didn't know any better.

When he heard another horse approach, his head lifted, and he stared down the path. He smiled as Beth walked her mare toward him.

Stopping her from dismounting, he said, "We're not there yet."

He disturbed Ares's grazing and then swung into his saddle. James had given careful thought to how to find the privacy he wanted, and while there would be no cabin, no bed, he could at least buy them a few hours where they were unlikely to be seen—provided no one had followed them.

Despite the fact he'd still been a boy the last time he'd gone there, James remembered the way. The path into the copse was hard to see, but he'd followed it so many times when he was escaping his studies he didn't need to see it to find it. Beth rode silently behind him as he and Ares wound through the trees to the meadow he knew waited inside. Hopefully, he thought, scrub hadn't taken root since and filled in the patch of grass.

When he was a boy, his father had explained that it had been created by the local Indians who used to burn out the undergrowth periodically to encourage grass in order to attract deer. James's grandfather and father had followed their lead. He didn't know if the slaves had continued to do it, though, and he decided that was very remiss of him not to know. A man should be aware of what was being done to his property, and he could hear his father's voice say that, just as Jonathan Wilkins had often done before his death.

Thankfully, it was still as he remembered it, a lush carpet of green dappled by sunlight, the trees still thick enough around it to shield it from the view of anyone who passed by it. He dismounted and turned to Beth.

Her eyes surveyed the small, open space, and then she met his gaze. He reached up for her, lifted her from her saddle. "No amenities," he apologized as he set her on her feet and then secured their horses.

Finished with his task, he turned, and the smile Beth gave him warmed. She told him, "Privacy is more important."

James bent and kissed her then, though he found he was in no particular hurry for once. Their time might be limited, but all that mattered in that moment was that she was there. She leaned into him, kissed back, but after a few moments, he noticed there was a lack of heat in her response.

"I think, James," she said softly when he released her lips, "that we should consider again what we are doing."

His heart sank. The last time they had done so, they had quarreled, and he had no interest in doing so again. She took her arms from his waist and caught his hands, tugged slightly until he walked with her to a shady spot. She sank to the ground with the kind of grace he suspected must come from all those hours a princess spent learning to curtsey. Then he remembered they were curtseyed to, for the most part. He was probably less graceful as he folded his limbs to sit against a tree trunk facing her. If he was going to have to listen to a female chatter at him, he might as well be comfortable in addition to having a pleasant view.

At least she met his gaze, and James figured that gave him an advantage. Her face and especially her eyes were expressive, he'd noticed, and when she dropped her guard, it wasn't difficult to see what she truly thought. He had become more expert in how best to get her to drop her guard, he thought, as he watched her fingers work at pleating the skirt of her habit. He reached a hand out, covered hers. They stilled beneath his, and he grasped one, shifted his hand to lace his fingers with hers. The tip of her tongue darted out a moment, but the silence stretched until James felt compelled to break it. "Have you changed your mind?"

He sincerely hoped not, but given she looked nervous, he owned it was entirely possible she had done so.

Beth shook her head. Though she said nothing, her eyes were troubled.

"My mother knows, James," she finally said. "Sooner or later, she will tell someone."

That first hadn't been hard to figure out, he thought, and as for the second, the woman was certainly indiscreet. "She suggested I leave you alone."

Dull pink washed over Beth's face at his admission.

He leaned toward her, pressed a soft kiss against her cool lips. "I don't want to," he whispered, watching her eyes darken, "but I will if that is what you wish."

Those green eyes of hers looked stricken. "Arie says you are my friend," she said, barely above a whisper, "but I think I prefer that we are more." This time her face went crimson, and she dropped her eyes.

James knew he probably grinned like the smug bastard he felt at the moment. Then he sobered. There was risk in what they did, and their discovery would be harsher for her than it would be for him. She would take the blame, and given Will's apparent, previously unknown temperament, she would take the punishment as well. He suspected Will would find a way not to call him out, especially since James would likely win any contest between them. He'd always been better than Will with pistols and a blade, and he was bigger, faster physically.

That wasn't what mattered, though. What mattered was that if they were discovered, Will might do more than leave bruises on Beth, especially since she appeared unable to protect herself, and that James simply could not bear. He reached for her other hand and gave them both a gentle squeeze. He waited until she looked at him again. "I don't want to be the cause of any harm that might come to you."

"You won't be," she whispered, and James couldn't help but think she was simply placating him.

He let her, unwilling to quarrel when he spent so little time alone with her. He studied her, noted she didn't quite meet his eyes now. Unable to leave it completely alone, though, he asked, "Was there more you wished to say?"

She rolled her lower lip between her even, white teeth, and finally really looked at him. He watched her expression shift like the coastal tides, watched her eyes cloud and clear. After several moments, she shook her head.

"I have more to say," he told her and released her hands. She looked alarmed until he reached for her waist and pulled her closer. "No more talk of this." He opened his mouth over hers and was glad when she responded. This time there was heat in her kiss. When it occurred to him that in the normal course of things, they would have taken time to know one another better, he backed off, considered that continuing to talk might not be a bad thing.

Her hands were on his shoulders, and he lifted her into his lap. She asked, "What shall we speak of then?"

Grinning, James laced his hands together in the small of her back. "You."

A smile tipped her lips. "Ah. You wish me to bore you on such a beautiful morning."

Matching her smile, he lifted a brow. "Something tells me you won't bore me at all."

Her own brows lifted slowly. "Really, Mr. Wilkins, you have _no_ idea how dull the life of a princess royal can be, especially mine."

James cocked his head. "Why especially you?" He found it difficult to imagine he would find anything about her dull.

She blushed again. "I was educated in a convent."

"At least you had classmates," he retorted. He'd been educated in what was now his study by a Harvard graduate who had continued his studies at Oxford before returning home to South Carolina in time to watch his father's shipping business go bankrupt. James's father, who had been a friend of the other man's father, had hired him to tutor James.

"You did not go to school?" she asked. He could tell she was surprised, and then her eyes narrowed. "You're well-read, James, unlike many of your neighbors, so I find that very hard to believe."

After he explained his education, she nodded. "I planned to become a nun," she added quietly.

James laughed at that, but he sobered when he read serious indignation on her face. In his wildest dreams, he couldn't imagine her locked away from the world living in quiet contemplation and prayer. One thing he knew about Beth was that she was a passionate woman, and he doubted she would have been able to hide that, to bury it deeply enough to live her life in complete denial of who she was. That thought made him remember what her mother had said about Beth's attempts to deny her heritage, but he was equally certain that Beth was not at all like her mother.

"You could never have been a nun," he assured her. Her curiosity about seemingly everything would have guaranteed that if nothing else. James hid the dark thoughts that crept in then, thoughts that sooner or later some man would have seduced her, claimed her, and he would have missed his chance to know her.

James did not like admitting that.

"I very nearly was," she whispered, and as he caught a kind of pain in her eyes, he wondered if she regretted that she had not seen it through and taken vows. He had watched her in church on those Sundays his mother had forced him to attend, watched as she sat in the Cameron pew, stiffly erect and eyes locked on the priest. She had appeared bored, almost contemptuous, and had failed to rise or kneel when the liturgy commanded it. It had been another of those signals for their neighbors to believe she was a heathen or worse. As he looked deeper into her eyes, he realized there was a tinge of something else there, something old and weary, and beneath that there was yet another layer that looked a little like fear.

"Beth?"

She blinked rapidly but said only, "I don't wish to talk of that."

"Tell me about your childhood, then," he suggested, hoped it was happier than whatever had prevented her pledging herself to her church.

"I was indulged, and I was happy."

He eyed her, noticed the shadows were still there. While he didn't doubt she had grown up privileged, he did question the happy part. "Indulged how?"

Her hand rose, and its palm fitted to his cheek. "I was a member of the royal family," she primly reminded him.

"Alright," he said, willing to let her evade that one, "what is your happiest memory of your childhood?"

Beth's head tilted, and he watched her think. "The summer I was ten."

He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. Instead, her hand began to move against his skin. He considered letting that particular gambit go, considered allowing her to encourage more physical activities rather than continued conversation, but he was curious, especially since this was the first time she had appeared willing to talk about herself and her past. There were many things he didn't know about her, and he wondered if this might not provide a key to the discovering who, exactly, this contrary, enigmatic woman truly was. "Why then?" he asked softly.

Her smile turned inward. "Ghislaine and I spent that summer with our father."

"The admiral?"

She nodded. "Only that summer, he was not in your majesty's navy. He was a merchant ship's captain, and we sailed with him."

He knew sailors were often superstitious about women on board vessels, so he wondered that her father had allowed two young girls to spend their time with him at sea. He'd taken a few voyages of his own, mostly with his father to Antigua until his father had finally divested himself of many of his holdings there. It had not struck him as a particularly interesting life, even when he was a boy, so he wondered why it was such a happy memory for her.

When Beth laughed, he frowned. "It was the first time I tasted the kind of freedom most women never experience," she told him. His frown deepened. "My sister will be able to live outside society's expectations if she so chooses, but I must live within them. That summer, I dressed like a boy and learned to be a sailor."

She laughed again, probably because James suspected his expression was likely far more comical than his thoughts. He imagined her as she was now, only without the habit's skirt. He'd had a good look at how those trousers of hers hugged her waist and stretched across her tight backside. He'd spent a goodly number of hours imagining that backside—mostly without the trousers—but he admitted that while he wouldn't mind her wearing them in private if only for a kind of propriety's sake, he far preferred her without them.

"What did you learn?" he asked, tearing his thoughts from her bottom.

"My father's crew taught us all the things boys our age would learn to do on a ship," she told him, and since he knew little to nothing about how ships worked, he let that pass, "but mostly I learned a very colorful vocabulary."

His brows shot up. He thought he blushed as she leaned forward and quietly recited a series of obscene words and phrases in a husky voice that did things to him. When Beth leaned back, it was obvious she understood exactly what they had done to him. He was about to lean into her, but she locked her arm and held him at bay. "And what of you?"

He grasped her around the waist and rolled so that she lay on her back and he leaned over her. "I learned to farm," he said, "and it's about as dull as it sounds."

"On the contrary," she disagreed. "I'm fascinated by—"

Unwilling at that particular moment to discover what about agriculture fascinated her, James covered her mouth with his and made a concerted effort to distract her from further discussion. When her hands at last began to undo the ties on his shirt, he lifted his mouth just enough to say, "I could care less."

Her hands stilled, and she countered with, "In that case, perhaps I should return to Hart's Crossing and not bore you further."

A growl of frustration escaped him.

Another laugh escaped her. One set of her fingers dipped inside the opening of his linen shirt. Her hand flattened, fingers spread on his heated skin, and he watched her face.

"You do not bore me, Anna-Elizabeth," he assured her, "but I can think of far more interesting things to discuss than rice or indigo cultivation."

Beth's hand moved over his skin. He was very aware of her light touch, of the smooth softness of her hand. "What subject do you wish to discuss?" she asked quietly.

Since he was no longer interested in conversation, he dipped his head, took her mouth. He tasted her slowly, and when her lips parted, he tasted her more deeply. The hand inside his shirt moved, stroked up to his shoulder and curved over it beneath his shirt's fabric. Her other hand ran up the other side of his chest to curve around his neck and hold his mouth to hers—not that he needed holding. He intended to get closer to her rather than retreat.

Only then did it occur to him that he would have to move away from her long enough to shed his clothes and divest her of her own.

Perhaps the same had occurred to Beth, for she shifted her hands again and slipped them from beneath his shirt to his waist where she grasped his shirt's linen, tugged it free of his breeches. He moved his arms so she could draw it over his head. When she had done so, she flung it, but James didn't bother to notice where. He was too intent on the buttons of her habit's waistcoat, figured he'd save time by removing it and her jacket together. She kissed her way along his jaw, and James moved his head to accommodate her.

For a heartbeat or two, he considered the probability that they might be discovered, but he'd never brought Will here when they were children, and he doubted Katy was even aware of the spot. The slaves were unlikely to disturb them, so he pushed those thoughts away, concentrated on Beth and on revealing each inch of skin, each curve of her body, and on kissing his way slowly across the parts of her he exposed. Since she wore far more clothes than he, he didn't waste time, made as short a work as he could at dispensing with her garments.

It finally occurred to him that neither of them could return to their homes with grass stains on their clothes and not have to answer questions neither could afford to face. It also occurred to him that he would have to lay her directly on the grass to avoid that, and he decided the next time he met her in such a place, the least he could do was provide something with which he could cover the ground on which he intended to lie with her.

As Beth often seemed to know his thoughts, he wasn't very surprised when they finished undressing and she told him, "I don't mind, and we can't let the grass—or anything else—leave stains." Beth pulled him down to her, kissed him with the heat she'd withheld when he first kissed her earlier, and James met it. Then he decided that he would drive her as mad as she had driven him. As he began to explore her body, he did so as slowly as possible. He smiled against her breast as she tried to incite him to explore faster.

James resisted, continued his slow exploration of her body. He stroked her skin, molded his hand to her curves, tasted her. He discovered that a stroke of his thumb over her nipple could make her whimper, that suckling at the same now-pert nipple could cause her to moan softly. His teeth could make her arch, groan. His fingers teasing between her thighs could make her body undulate and incoherent sounds escape her.

Not that Beth's hands and mouth remained idle. She kissed what she could, stroked and fondled what she could reach of his longer body as well, and James nearly had to release her to prevent her hand from providing a release he intended for when he was buried inside her.

When he finally positioned himself and joined his body to hers, he held his weight off her with his elbows as he flexed muscle, moved deeply inside her with an excruciating slowness that nearly killed him even as it had her eyes unfocused, half-closed, and her breathing coming in uneven gasps. She moved with him, thank God, and James caught her mouth, mimicked the movement of his body with his tongue against hers, and appreciated how she followed him. When she tried to quicken the pace, he maintained his own rhythm, watched her as she moved to meet him. He slowly increased the speed with which he moved inside her, and as she arched into him again, he fought the desire to pound into her.

James liked the fact that his slow pace frustrated her, liked that she began to plead with him to move harder, faster. Even though he sympathized, he liked watching her fight to make him do as she willed even as he denied her what she asked for.

The point came, though, where he needed to move faster, harder, and he did so. When her breathing became rapid and her body pulsed around him as she dug her fingers into his shoulders and cried out, he pushed on to his own completion.

He smiled against her throat, pressed kisses against her soft skin. Beth breathed deeply in and then let it sigh out. Her hands roamed his back, and her mouth nibbled under his jaw. Her body arched, stretched beneath his once more. James liked the slide of her skin against his. He pressed another kiss against her lips.

It kept him from saying something he should never say to her, something he couldn't quite bring himself to admit aloud.

As her arms held him, James did admit how much he liked the way her body pressed against his. When Beth's eyes slowly opened, he spread his fingertips on her cheek. "You are so beautiful," he told her.

A flush spread over her skin. "I'm not, James," she whispered.

Running a finger over her cheekbone and down to trace along her jaw, he then drew it over her lower lip. "Yes, Beth, you are."

She shook her head, and though her lips tipped up at the corners, something wasn't right with her smile. He wondered if she felt guilty about what they did or if it was something else, something related to the shadows he'd seen as she spoke of her childhood.

"I'm not at all what you believe me to be."

The words were so softly voiced he barely heard them. His thumb traced her cheekbone once more to a spot just in front of her left ear. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes," she breathed softly. "It matters, James. It matters because one day we will likely be discovered, and when that happens, then I cannot bear it if you are harmed."

The temptation was to tell her that it didn't matter, that he would be fine, but he could tell she didn't believe that was the case. James knew he couldn't honestly reassure her. He did, though, note that she seemed worried about him just as he worried about her, something he confessed he liked. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself," he assured her. He remained certain Will would attempt to take his anger out on Beth, and he opened his mouth to warn her.

She cradled his cheeks, pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him. James didn't think he imagined her body was part of her kiss. This time she drove him, urged his body on, and it wasn't slow and it wasn't gentle. He worried again he might have hurt her, but when he opened his mouth to ask her, she smiled sleepily at him, and he found himself reluctant to spoil what appeared to be her fairly happy mood.

He rolled to his side, held her to him and asked, "If I had been able to go to Europe with Will, if I had met you there, would I have been able to court you?"

A puzzled expression crossed her face, and though he had heard the story from Will, he had never completely believed that his friend had met a royal princess in a gallery and swept her off her feet. Her expression cleared, and a smile replaced it. "You would have had to court my uncle, the King."

"I wouldn't have wanted marry your uncle," he told her.

"Uncle Alexandre would have been the one who granted you permission to court me," she told him, and James noted her substitution of the word _court_ for his _marry._

"How does one court a king?"

Her smile was mischievous. "First, you establish the obscene wealth you rice planters all seem to have—because money matters to a king. Second, you woo him with what you might do for him—especially if it involves all that lovely money. Third, you would have to promise to treat me well—because, after all, Uncle Alexandre loves me. Fourth, you would have to agree with him in all things—because he is the King and by definition always right."

James stopped her there with a kiss. "And if I had done all those things?"

Her face was solemn. "That presumes you would have even met me and that Uncle Alexandre would have granted you an audience."

"I can be persuasive," he told her, ran a hand over her body and watched her eyes darken.

"That kind of persuasion would not have worked on my uncle," she told him with a moan as his fingers stroked one of the more sensitive spots on her body.

"Works on you," he whispered before he kissed her.

She smiled again. "But I am a weak woman, and he's a king."

"I don't think you're at all weak." _Except when it comes to refusing to leave Will_, he added silently.

Beth must have read something in his face, for her expression shifted, and hurt crept into her eyes. "Will only managed it through subterfuge," she confessed. "He bribed someone to learn where I would be and when, which I don't understand since I had no set schedule at the time."

So Will had planned to seduce her, James thought, and from the look of her, she was unhappy about that.

"He was actually interested in my sister, Ghislaine," she confessed, and a blush stole over her. "He settled for the one of us he could get."

"Did he have to court your uncle?" James asked, and his voice betrayed the anger he felt, though he hadn't recognized it was there until he voiced that question.

"No," she confessed. "He merely had to charm me and then my mother."

Having met the Princess Falken, he suspected it hadn't been difficult at all for Will to convince the woman to let Beth marry him. Will had a great deal of charisma, was favored by many women for that easy charm of his. James had his share, but it didn't come quite as easily to him as it did to his friend.

Beth's hands stroked over his back and around to his chest. "You would have managed," she told him. "I feel certain Uncle Alexandre would like you every bit as much as I do." She smiled. "I would have made sure he knew my preferences, and just as he did with Will, I'm certain he would have let you have me."

James frowned. "I thought you said Will didn't meet him?"

"He didn't, but he did meet Maldon, who told Alexandre about him." She stopped there, chewed her lower lip a moment. "Uncle Alexandre asked me if I loved Will," she continued, and her eyes held James's, "and I told him I did not. I told him I wanted to marry Will because I wanted to escape the rumors and lies. That was true, James, and I'm not sorry I followed Will to South Carolina."

It was telling to James that she didn't say she was not sorry she married his friend, but James neither pointed that out nor commented on it. He wondered how living as a neglected wife, one whose husband sometimes beat her, could possibly be better than enduring rumors and lies, and he wondered what the nature of those rumors and lies were. There were the ones about her mother, which he perfectly understood, but about the others, he could only speculate.

It appeared, though, that Beth no longer wished to discuss that since she moved her body against his and reached up to kiss him. "I must return to Hart's Crossing," she told him softly.

Since he, too, needed to return to his own home, he reluctantly helped her to her feet and dressed once more. He played lady's maid, assisted Beth with her habit before he lifted her into her saddle, mounted Ares, and led her out of the copse. James kissed her and then sent her ahead of him with a promise to meet her again the following week.

-X-

For the rest of the summer, they met at irregular intervals in several places James doubted they would be traced to, including the cabin on Smallwood's farm once or twice. He chose not to think too much about what they did, chose not to dwell on the discomfort and unease he felt when he did think about it. He also chose not to think about the adultery they committed because it angered him that the only way to free her from Will was to take her away, and James could no more leave South Carolina than he could publicly proclaim his affair with his best friend's wife.

Both would kill him.

It also didn't help that in May the British had reached the gates of Charles Town, having driven north from Savannah. They had turned back, though, when General Augustine Prevost had feared the rebel militia was on its way. James supposed it might have been, but he doubted the rabble that would have arrived to stand up to Prevost would have been able to defeat the general's well-trained troops. It did mean, though, that the British truly were looking at South Carolina, and it meant that very soon James might have to make a choice he'd rather avoid.

Rumors swirled that Governor John Rutledge had offered to surrender Charles Town to Prevost on the condition that the citizens of South Carolina would be allowed to spend the rest of the war as neutral parties. Some of the planters with whom James had discussed it believed that Rutledge had been stalling for time so that the rebels could arrive and rout Prevost, but others believed the man had made a serious offer. For James, such an agreement might have made his position easier, would certainly have permitted him to not have to choose between South Carolina and the King while allowing him to protect his land and his people. On the other hand, if it were to come to war in South Carolina, he would have to side with the King, and what would happen after that only God knew.

James knew, though, that it would not be just rebels on the other side of the battle but his friends and neighbors, and he wondered if he would be able to do his duty while looking at men with whom he shared a personal history, some of whom he was related to through intermarriage among the planters. He thought, too, of that late night discussion with his mother about honor and glory, about their difference of opinion on what they meant, and he considered carefully what the true costs would be if he chose the King and if the rebels won the war.


	11. Chapter 11

17

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 11**

James saw Beth the moment he entered the Cameron's drawing room. He'd come to Charles Town on business. His mother and Katy had chosen to stay at Oak Point, and James couldn't say he was sorry. He was glad to have a little breathing room, glad to have some peace and quiet. His mother had insisted Bess and a few staff come along with him. She was training a housekeeper, one she intended to install in their Charles Town home since their current one was too old to continue her duties, and she wanted Bess's critical eye out of the way, apparently.

Several of his neighbors were present. Helen had invited several couples, and James wondered that she had chosen uneven numbers by inviting him. The discussion picked back up, and he listened to Robert Cameron and Jeremy Kent discuss that blowhard Howard's latest speech. James remembered the debate in the Assembly over raising a levy, remembered how he had felt compelled to stand and refute the man's assertion that they were an American nation. While he had sympathized with Howard's position, he still believed what he had once told Beth—that they should remain loyal to the crown and fight for home rule.

Catching Beth's eye, James wondered if she still believed what she had told him on another occasion, that England would grant the American colonies home rule only after Ireland had won such a right. James knew the Irish were unlikely to win their argument, but the Colonies were different. They provided so much to King George, were far more important economically than Ireland was to the empire. James could not see how the American colonies could fail, but when he listened to men like Howard, he wondered how they would ever be taken seriously by the Crown. It didn't have to be full independence. It didn't even have to be immediate independence, and he didn't understand why his neighbors couldn't see that.

Benjamin Martin had been the only man to speak sense that long ago day, and James had been surprised to hear that particular bit of sense come from the man's mouth, especially since he knew Martin was in more sympathy with the rebel's cause than the man often let on. He, like most of the men present, had heard of Martin's exploits at Fort Wilderness in the last war, though unlike many of the others in their colony, James didn't see the glory in what Martin and his fellow soldiers had done there. It was slaughter, pure and simple. There was no honor in it.

When the issue had finally been called to a vote, both he and Martin had found themselves on the losing side. South Carolina's Assembly had voted to raise the levy. James knew many men had raised militia troops on both sides of the conflict, and he gave some thought to which of the loyalist troops he might join if the time came when he had to follow his conscience.

During dinner, Beth was, as usual, quiet, reserved, while the others spoke vituperatively about the war. James noticed that from time to time Beth paled, looked briefly upset when more gruesome alleged atrocities were voiced.

He also noticed Will yet again completely ignored his wife. James wondered if the fact he was safely married to her meant Will felt he need not pay any attention to her. Given that the rest of the family and their neighbors still seemed to pretend she didn't exist, either, he was hardly surprised when she said nothing, appeared, in fact, to be attempting to fade into the background.

Honoria, on the other hand, flirted shamelessly with him, and James tried not to show how repugnant he found her behavior. He was further appalled that her parents did not attempt to restrain her. He couldn't help but compare her forward behavior with that of Beth's reserve. Beth spoke only when spoken to, as was the rule for women in their society. James found himself, not for the first time, thinking how stupid that particular rule was, how it equated a woman with children, who were also expected to remain silent unless spoken to. Of course, Beth appeared to be the only woman who actually attempted to adhere to it. 

When he removed Honoria's hand for the third time from his thigh, he had had about enough, especially since Will's middle sister Maria, who was seated across from him, had decided that running her slippered foot up and down his booted calf was a good idea. He tucked his big feet beneath his chair and hoped his long legs were now out of reach. He vowed to avoid the youngest, Lydia, as much as possible since he was certain he didn't want to know what she might resort to in order to gain his attention.

Dinner finished, he gratefully retired with the men to the half of the parlor usually reserved for them. He accepted a glass of brandy and made short work of it.

Will, noticing, grinned unrepentantly at him. While his father was busy talking to one of the other planters who had been invited to dinner, Will leaned over to James and said softly, "My sisters are anxious to secure husbands before the war returns. I hope you are not offended."

James was more disgusted than offended, but he said nothing of that to his old friend who refilled his glass. "I suppose that as a married man," James said carefully, "you think the rest of us should fit our necks to the yoke."

Will laughed. "On the contrary, old friend. I pity the man who is fool enough to marry one of my sisters."

Having had just enough alcohol—between the wine with dinner, the whiskey before and the brandy after—to be less cautious with his tongue than he would otherwise have been, James asked, "And what of you?"

His old friend looked somberly at his own glass. "Anna-Elizabeth has not turned out to be quite what I expected when I chose her."

James sipped his brandy. "And what did you expect?"

Will shook his head. "That, my friend, is not something I wish to discuss."

They rejoined the other conversation, the political discussion, and James followed it half-heartedly. He was more focused on the looming choice before him: England or America.

On the one hand, he believed in God, King and country. On the other hand, he had been born and raised in this land, in South Carolina. He had lived his life alternating between Charles Town and the country where his family's plantation was. He loved his home, but he had been taught to love his King as well. He believed in the King, but he also knew the King, apparently, did not always think of his subjects across the ocean in America. Beginning with the Stamp Act in the sixties, the Crown had passed acts that, on the surface, made sense to Parliament. After all, if the Colonies had to be defended, then it was only natural those colonies assume some of the costs for the garrisons necessary to that defense. On the other, the Acts had been imposed without consulting the Colonies. James liked to believe the Colonies would have agreed to support their defense had their various governing bodies been asked, but he also wondered if the northern colonists had simply been looking for an excuse. Radicals there certainly had ideas that most rational South Carolinians balked at.

The more he pondered the political troubles, the more confused he grew. Ironically, he wished he could seek Beth's counsel.

When the pocket doors were opened and they rejoined the women, James found himself seated beside her. He found that odd, especially since Will had seemed to maneuver him into sitting beside his wife, and James found that an uncomfortable thought. What he found even more uncomfortable was the scent of the woman whom he was seated next to. She smelled, as she so often did, of lavender and woman, but it was the scent of woman that drew him. He was mildly intoxicated, and perhaps that explained why he dropped his hand to the cushion between them, slid it slowly under her skirt where he could feel her thigh beneath the layers of fabric which made up her skirts. When her own hand slid beneath the silk and then over his, he caught her fingers. He longed to feel the rest of her, longed to run his hand and his tongue over her naked skin, longed to hear her moan his name, longed to hear her make incoherent noises as he loved her.

He wondered again why Will didn't find her appealing. She was a beautiful, passionate woman, and James fed off her passion. He couldn't imagine her husband denying that fire. If there was one thing of which James was certain, it was that Will would find pleasure in the arms of his wife.

As he thought it, he moved his hand, slid it from beneath hers and lifted his glass to his lips. Beth claimed Will didn't find women appealing, and it was true Will hadn't looked at his wife in any way that indicated he desired her. Instead, Beth's husband's looks were those of ownership, those of someone looking at an object he possessed and was well aware others desired. Perhaps Will enjoyed the power of owning something others envied.

James routed his thoughts to other channels, considered the rest of the business he needed to conduct while in Charles Town. He sipped his brandy and tried to ignore Honoria's attempts to catch his attention.

There was a point where it dawned on him that he was in town alone, that neither his mother nor his sister had accompanied him to Charles Town. Beth could come to him, and no one would be the wiser.

But it wasn't true. As she had pointed out once before, the servants would know and might gossip.

He fell into a funk. He sat so close to her, so close to her all he had to do was lean a bit to his left and his shoulder would rest against hers. He could move his hand only a few inches and touch her, but he would not again. He sat in a room surrounded by her husband's family and by lifelong friends, and only the two of them knew he was more her husband than Will was. He longed to turn his head, to look his fill before he leaned in and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. He longed to lift her in his arms, carry her to bed and spend the rest of the night making love with her.

Instead, James sat beside Beth and considered all the ways he cheated her. He met her furtively in any place they could find a bit of privacy when what he wished desperately for was to take her to Oak Point as its mistress, as his wife. She was married to his best friend, to the man he had grown up with and considered a brother, but James had taken her virginity and taken her as his lover. He disobeyed the laws of God and man to lie in her arms as often as he could manage, and he risked making her pregnant and betraying their secret to Will—if to no one else.

His intoxicated brain shuddered to a halt as he thought of Beth pregnant. God, how he wished he had the right.

The hunger nearly consumed him as he sat in the close room, as he breathed in her scent and felt her heat beside him. He craved the slide of her skin against his, but he beat that back, finished his brandy and leaned forward to set the empty glass on the table before him. He waited for a lull in the conversation and tried to catch what they were speaking of only to be startled when he realized Will and Beth were coming in for gentle teasing because she was not yet pregnant.

They had been married more than a year, and James had been her lover for several months.

He slid a sidelong glance at her, and noticed the crimson color running beneath her normally pale skin. Will, sitting on the other side of her wore a jaded grin. James had an almost uncontrollable urge to wipe that amusement off his friend's face.

When he looked again at Beth, she looked stricken, embarrassed to be the focus of attention. He caught her eye, and he saw a moment of sheer terror in their depths. He changed the subject, asked Will's father about a horse James had been trying to purchase from him for more than a year. The two of them trod the same ground they had trodden before. The filly was a magnificent piece of flesh, not unlike Beth. To his surprise, Will's father agreed to accept his offer. James sat up and tried to retrace the conversation. He gave up, reached out, shook Robert's hand on the deal, told him he'd come around with the bank draft in the morning.

If he were a superstitious man, James would have considered it an omen. The question was whether or not it was a good omen or a bad omen.

-X-

The following morning he decided it must have been a good omen because when he arrived at the Cameron house with the bank draft, only Beth was at home. The maid showed him into the parlor where she sat reading, and Beth stood at his entrance. She asked the maid to bring tea and gestured toward a chair. He waited for her to resume her seat on the sofa before seating himself in the chair.

She wore a smoky, blue-gray, a color that suited her, and she stared at him, her eyes searching him. When the maid returned, Beth gestured for her to stay close. Though James would have preferred to be alone with her, even he knew it would not do for anyone to know they had been together with no better chaperone than a maid. He spoke to her of generalities, sipped tea and ate biscuits, and all the time he alternated between hoping the Camerons would arrive and hoping the maid would be called away. He knew the maid was not sufficient as a chaperone, but he knew it was better she be found with them than they be found alone together.

When he realized he had sat with her well beyond the length of an acceptable visit and no one had returned, he excused himself, asked Beth to ask Robert to call on him, and returned to his own house.

That afternoon, James allowed his servants time to see to their own amusements, and while he lay in a particularly gloomy mood on the couch in the drawing room of his otherwise empty house, he thought of Beth and how the light had slanted through the eastern windows and made a burnished halo of her hair that morning. He thought of the pale creaminess of her skin above the neckline of her gown and how her bodice had cradled her breasts.

There was a rapping at the back door. James ignored it at first. His servants were gone, and only someone who wished to see one of them would come to his back door. The knocking came louder, and he decided to go see who was there.

She had draped a heavy, dark shawl over the thick veil covering her distinctive hair and pulled on gloves that hid her skin. She wore a faded dress he suspected she had borrowed from her maid. When she looked up at him from out of the dark shadows created by the drape of the shawl, he reached for her and drew her inside. He kicked the door shut even as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled the veil and shawl from her head, molded her body against his, found her mouth with his and devoured it.

Beth clung to him, held him to her. She murmured his name again and again, and not for the first time, James wondered whether she was reminding herself who she was with or whether she was letting him know she knew it was him and not Will. She had been a virgin the first time he took her, but he knew he would never really know if she had begun sleeping with Will or not.

"Upstairs," he breathed, pulling his mouth from her soft skin.

He took her hand and led her to the servant's stairs and up them to the second floor where his quarters were. He locked the door behind them and drew her to the bed, tossed the veil and shawl he still held at a chair. He made quick work of undressing her, and her fingers were equally nimble as they stripped him of his own clothes.

For the first time he had her in a bed that was genuinely his own. As a result, he indulged in the fantasy that she was his wife, not Will's, that he had every right to have her there. He could smell the soap on her, was aware that she had bathed before coming to him. He took his time, tasted all of her, loved her as though they had all the time in the world. He pushed down the knowledge that he would have to find a way to get her out of the house unseen.

Beth had proven again and again that she had no fear of lovemaking, but this time she did something even his mistresses had never done. James had heard men talk of women putting their mouths on them, but he had doubted anyone other than a whore would do such a thing. When Beth's mouth trailed down his chest and then over his abdomen before taking hold of him with a soft hand and opening her mouth over him, his brain froze. He started to stop her, but she ran her tongue along his length and then closed over and sucked on a spot just below the tip that made him shut completely up—provided one discounted the ragged moan that escaped him. Her mouth opened and she slid it down over him as far as she could go until he felt the back of her throat, and he fisted his hands in his sheets and tried to remain still.

James was intensely focused on the damp heat of her mouth, the smooth roughness of her tongue moving along his hard length as her head moved up and down over him. Her tongue flicked over that incredibly sensitive spot below the head of his cock and moved onward. When she began to move faster up and down his length, he thought he should stop her, but it felt too good to do so. When he felt his release coming, he tried to tell her, but she seemed to know, slipped a hand below his scrotum and caressed a spot that made him forget even his own name as he came hard.

When he finally became alert again, she was kissing her way over his hip and up a lazy line meandering along his abdomen toward his chest. For the life of him, he couldn't have moved. He finally untangled a hand from his sheets as her lips closed over one of his nipples, and she drew on the nub. He ran his free hand over her exposed buttock and up her spine, and when she reached his jaw, he blindly sought her mouth with his.

He rolled her to her back and kissed her softly. She slid her arms around his shoulders and cradled his head, her fingers threading through his hair.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked on a ragged breath.

She looked up at him, her eyes similar to the green of jade in the shadowy afternoon light. "From a discussion with my cousin and from a book I read," she said softly.

"I should read more books," he said, stroking a hand down over her breast.

She gave him a sunny smile. "You do just fine without books."

He gave her a grin. Her hands rubbed up over his chest. "James," she whispered, "we cannot keep doing this."

James moved and covered her nipple with his mouth and ran his tongue over the hard tip before he drew on it. She arched up into him, held him to her breast, and he ran his hands down over her taut belly and down to her hips. He parted her thighs and settled himself between them. His fingers sought her curls, and he found her ready for him. He kissed his way to her mouth and looked down at her. "I know," he said as he positioned himself at her entrance.

As he eased into her, he wondered if the coming war would remove Will from the equation. If she were left widowed, he'd marry her at the first moment common decency allowed and not think twice about it—assuming he couldn't find a way to marry her sooner. He said nothing of that, though, savored her tight, wet, sheath as he moved within her. Her name was a ragged moan as she moved with him.

Afterward, as he cradled her against him, he thought of the other possibility—that the war might take him from her.

It seemed as though she were aware of his troubled thoughts since Beth lifted her head from his shoulder and asked, "What are you thinking about, James?"

He stretched along her, skin sliding against skin, and lifted a hand to cradle her cheek. "You were right," he said softly, thinking of the times they had spoken of the subject before. "I'm afraid the war will return soon."

"There is always a war coming."

James frowned at her. She had sounded particularly bitter when she said that, and he thought of those shadows he'd seen in her eyes before.

"I don't think most of the people who look forward to it understand that it will be fought where they live, that their homes, property, and families will be scarred by it." She sighed, and laid her head back on his shoulder. "I've seen war, James. There's no glory. There's no honor. There is only death and destruction."

He didn't know how to answer that. Her fingers stroked along his waist and her hand came to rest over his heart. "I suppose you will still fight?"

James stared at the ceiling. He'd given her his answer long ago, and it had not changed. "Yes."

"For your king?"

He nodded, and she lifted onto her elbows, leaned over him. "Don't," she said urgently. "Come with me. Let's return to my homeland. I can divorce Will there."

Closing his eyes tightly, he sighed. It was a tempting offer—to have Beth for his own—but it felt like a bribe, and it was a bribe that bore too high a price for him. He had this land in his bones and in his soul, and he couldn't walk away from it. People depended on him, and he had been raised to never shirk his responsibilities. He sought a way to explain that to her, but the only answer he could give was, "This is my home, Beth. I cannot run away." He lifted his head and pressed his lips against her own. "Divorce Will anyway, or because you've not consummated your marriage, you have grounds for an annulment. Do that."

"The scandal will force you to leave," she said. "You know as well as I do that South Carolina doesn't allow divorce. Even if I only had the marriage annulled, you could not claim me anymore than you can now." By the time she finished, it was in a broken whisper, and he drew her back down to him.

He pulled her closer, covered the hand over his heart with his own. She was right, but he thought he could withstand the disapproval of his neighbors. Then he thought of Katy, of his mother, and he knew he could not do it. The social costs would equal economic costs, and they were too high for his family and dependents.

Beth kissed his shoulder, lifted and kissed his cheek and then moved to claim his mouth. She looked down at him. "This is all there is, James," she said softly and pushed him onto his back. "This is all there can be."

He wanted to argue with her, would have, but she went astride him, rode him until they both cried their completion.

-X-

The shadows were lengthening when he awoke to a hard rapping at his closed door. James called out, asked who was there. His manservant's voice came through the thick wood. "Mr. Cameron is here, sir."

In his half-awake state, he was certain Will must have discovered what was going on between him and his wife. James froze, considered his options before he remembered he had business with Robert, Will's father. "I'll be down soon," he called.

Beth's eyes were large in her pale face. James kissed her and climbed from the bed. He pulled on his clothes, and she sat up to climb out as well. He stopped her, kissed her again, and whispered to her, "Lock the door after me. Stay here until I return." He would have to distract his staff so that she could slip away—with any luck, unnoticed.

Robert Cameron had been provided tea when James found him in his study. The older man rose and shook his hand, and James was certain he did not mistake the knowing look in the other man's eyes. "Could I interest you in something a little stronger?" he asked.

Will's father said quietly, "No, tea is fine. Helen will not forgive me if I come home smelling of whiskey." They both seated themselves, and Robert continued, "I understood you had dismissed the lovely Theresa."

James eyed the man. Theresa had been his mistress, and he had parted from her shortly after Will's bride arrived in Charles Town.

Robert read the answer on his face. "Ah. It's not wise to bring your mistress into your home, James. I realize you are not married, but it simply isn't done."

"You came about the filly," James said and rose to find the bank draft.

"I came about several things, James," the other man said, the smile he had worn until then fading, "and fillies are but part of them."

He didn't miss the plural. They exchanged papers, James accepted the bill of sale for the horse after handing over the bank draft, and they discussed her delivery to Oak Point. Their business completed, Robert settled back in his seat and stared gravely across at him. "Would you say my son is happy in his marriage, James?"

The question caught him off-guard, but he sat up and contemplated how he might answer without betraying Beth. He watched his old friend's father, wondered if the man had worked it out, and he hoped to hell Robert hadn't. James valued the man's friendship, and he was grateful the other man had stepped into his father's place as one of James's closest advisors when his father died. He'd hate to lose that, though he knew that if the man were to learn of his liaison with Beth, he would.

"I have seen them together rarely," James said carefully. It was true, as far as it went. He tried to avoid seeing Beth with her husband.

Robert tilted his head. "And you've not really seen my son without his wife."

He nodded. That was also true. He had seen far less of Will since his marriage than he normally would. That was, in part, James's choice, but he had concluded Will felt the same way. "Married men rarely continue to socialize with their unmarried friends," he said.

Will's father sighed. "I had hoped when William came home from Europe and announced he had found a bride that he would settle down, that he had—well, that he would begin taking more responsibility for his inheritance."

James really didn't want to listen to this, but he could hardly protest without having Robert ask why. He couldn't explain any honest response he might make, and he didn't want to lie, so he sat back and waited for the man to finish.

"My son has . . . ." Robert stared up at a corner of the ceiling and gave a gentle cough. He began again. "My son has unnatural tastes, James, and I had hoped he would overcome them. I fear he has not."

Beth had told him, he thought, shocked. She had told him Will was not interested in women, and James had pushed her assertion aside. He acknowledged doubts, knew Beth certainly believed it to be true, but he had still found it hard to believe that of his old friend.

Yet so far as he knew, Will had not touched his delectable little wife.

It was possible Robert meant something else, though, he thought desperately.

Robert turned a pleading look on James. "Please tell me you left a woman in your bed to come downstairs."

Horrified, James almost denied it, but that opportunity had passed when he hadn't corrected Robert's assumption he had a mistress waiting upstairs. As a result, he said, "Of course!"

God help him, for if he had to produce her in order to reassure Will's father, he was a dead man.

Then he realized the other man was concerned he was his son's lover. He moved uncomfortably in his chair, saw for the first time an entirely different possibility in his mother's continued concern over his unmarried state.

"I cannot introduce you, Robert, but I assure you she is, indeed, female." Will's father still looked uneasy, and James felt his face flame before he deflected Robert with the truth. "She's married, and you are acquainted with her husband."

The other man swallowed thickly and then froze. James followed his gaze and saw a heavily shrouded Beth walking out the back gate. He sincerely hoped the other man didn't recognize her. "I take it that is she?"

James nodded, still hoping Robert would take it no further. The figure walking away was clearly female and obviously too small to be Will. "You play a dangerous game, James, bedding a married woman."

Having apparently said his piece, Robert changed the topic to concern about the looming return of the war. They talked a further half hour about it, and Robert expressed concern about his land and his family. He told James he had half a mind to send his wife and daughters to the West Indies or to the Canadas if not Europe. James was of the opinion that Helen would refuse to go, but he held his counsel. He had, himself, given thought to his own mother and sister and their safety. He knew Charles Town would be a primary and likely first target for the British, so for the time being, he felt Katy and his mother were safer at Oak Point. If their piece of the low country became a battleground, then he would have to see what needed to be done to keep them safe.

"Do you intend to fight?"

Robert's question caught him off guard. "I will do my duty," he said, "but I have other responsibilities that come first."

"I fear, James, we will all be called on to fight regardless of our responsibilities." He sighed. "This will be brother against brother, and there will be no easy peace when it is finished."

Robert then changed topic once more. He told James he intended to amend his will. He spoke of his concern that Will wasn't ready to assume control of Hart's Crossing, but then he asked James if he was willing to serve as a trustee. James balked at first, primarily because Will was unlikely to listen to him at all were Robert to do what he proposed, but Robert told him he was concerned about bequests he intended to make to his daughters and to his wife. He worried, he told James, that Will might not properly manage them. He explained that his son was proving to have virtually no business sense. He eyed James a moment, and then he mentioned Beth, told him he intended to see that she was given a hundred acres adjoining Oak Point along with the labor necessary to continue planting, and he hoped James would at least agree to serve as one of Beth's trustees.

James didn't know what to say. Robert explained that he intended to leave the land to Beth in such a way that Will couldn't claim, sell, or otherwise deprive her of it and the income that would result from it. He told him that as he had come to know his daughter-in-law, it had become apparent that she was an intelligent young woman, and he felt certain that she could manage property. He confessed he hoped that it might help her gain some independence from his son, who apparently intended to ignore his duty as a husband and as a provider. He said that Beth needed someone who could teach her to be a planter, and he believed that James would do right by her.

It wasn't something that was all that unusual in their society, but James was cognizant that such a move indicated that Robert didn't trust his own son. Given Will had never really worked an honest day's labor, James could understand why. By doing as he planned, Robert was, essentially, insuring that Beth had resources of her own. He couldn't help wondering if Robert was aware that he and Beth were lovers, but he couldn't ask without betraying her. He told Robert there were likely better choices, perhaps someone within his own family. Robert assured him that the only ones who would likely take on the trusteeship were members of his wife's family, and he had little faith in them to observe his wishes in the matter.

He realized Robert was demonstrating great trust in him, but he also knew he was unworthy of that trust. James told Robert he didn't think he could, but the man continued to insist until he finally agreed. They shook hands and agreed on a time at which to meet Robert's solicitor and work out the details.

James remained in his study after Robert left and stared blindly out the window, deep in thought. His housekeeper came in to collect the used cups and plates, and that should have been James' first warning. Normally, she would have sent the maid.

"Mr. James," Bess said softly.

He looked up, frowned.

"I know my place," she said, and he knew that always prefaced a recounting of his latest transgression. He didn't need a conscience at the moment, but it appeared Bess intended to be just that. "I know my place," she repeated, "but I'm wondering if you know yours."

He shot her a glance. She had been here when Beth left, so he knew she was aware he had had a woman in the house.

"The next time Mrs. Will borrows her maid's dress, tell her she best borrow her shoes, too."

Bess had to be guessing, and he was about to say so when she added, "You've never shown any interest in bedding slaves, Mr. James, but that was certainly Sukie's dress that walked past my kitchen door this afternoon. That wasn't Sukie wearin' it, though, and the only person in the Cameron household who could fit into it is young Mrs. Will."

He would not lie to her, had never been able to, so he said nothing. Bess would either gossip or keep her counsel, and there was little he could do about it. He would not threaten her to hold her tongue since it would do absolutely no good. As she passed his chair, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "You were a good boy, Mr. James, never any trouble at all, and you're a good man, but this isn't right, and you know it."

James drank his dinner and mulled over Bess's disappointment in him, Robert's concerns about his son, and his own desire for Beth.

-X-

In the morning he had a heavy, aching head. The sunlight streaming into his room was about to kill him, and if that weren't bad enough, he could smell Beth on his sheets. He groaned when he heard his manservant bring his morning tea, the rattle of dishes louder than he thought necessary, and he gagged when he smelled the breakfast that accompanied it. He let Lem convince him to get up and try and eat it. It didn't stay down long, and he caught the man hiding a smile as he moved to lay out James' clothes for the day. He had business to see to that morning, and he only hoped his head didn't crack open from the demons hammering inside his skull.

He made use of the warm water Lem brought by washing, and then he attempted to shave with an unsteady hand. When he nicked himself the second time, his manservant gently pushed him into a chair and finished the job for him. He shrugged into his clothes, pulled on his boots, and hoped he could survive the day.

-X-

James stayed in town three more days. He dined with friends each evening, and the discussion at table and in the parlors was dominated by talk of war. James was tired of it, and he was disappointed he did not catch a glimpse of Beth before he left for Oak Point.

His mother and Katy were happy to see him when he arrived home, and he filled them in on the gossip from Charles Town over dinner. After the meal, he didn't adjourn to his study as he usually would; instead, he remained to talk seriously to the two women about what was coming. For some time, they discussed whether or not the women should move to town, about whether they should go to his mother's cousin in Montreal, and about James's future. His mother raised, once more, the question of a bride, and James told her he would not marry with war on the horizon. When she told him he needed a son, he countered that there would be time after the war. He left the caveat unsaid, that he would have to survive that war.

Katy asked why he would not simply marry one of the Camerons, and James shot her a look, relaxed only when he realized she had not meant Beth. He told her he saw them as sisters, not wives, and then he made a mistake. Whether from tiredness or a suicidal urge to be honest about how he felt, he wasn't sure, but he told her he had met someone he might consider marrying.

His mother gave him a tight-lipped look that made him wonder if she had guessed. Katy quizzed him, tried to get him to confess who the woman was, but he told her there was no use talking about it since he would not court her until the war was settled.

-X-

For all the talk of war, it was still some time coming. In the meantime, James got on with his life. He worked his land, he lived his life, and when he could, he met Beth for whatever time they could steal together.

By mutual agreement, neither he nor Beth spoke of war when they were together. It always upset her, and James didn't want to upset her when they had so little time alone with one another. He had always been a cautious man, and he was aware that they were cheating probability. He tried to be careful with her, tried to not take chances, but when they were together, all the promises he made himself in her absence went out of his head, and passion ruled.

When they met socially, he tried not to stare at her, tried not to glare at Will when he touched his wife, and desperately tried not to think about what Robert Cameron had said about his son. He went to Charles Town on business that could have waited when Will's parents hosted a ball, and he spent that night closeted in his study with a bottle of fine brandy. Lem had been less than sympathetic most of the following day as he nursed his aching head.

Riding home to Oak Point afterward, James thought about the rumors he'd picked up in town. He had watched his neighbors over the last few months. Some would play both sides until a definitive winner emerged, some would choose rebellion, and others, like James himself, would choose to support the Crown. It was growing more difficult to know who was choosing which side. Some, like Howard and Christopher Gadsden, made no bones about their intent to suborn rebellion. Some were unwavering in their support for the King. Others, though, were more coy, and James was dismayed to realize Will Cameron was one of them. Robert was clear about his support of the King, but Will, increasingly, refused to take a solid stance.

James worried about Beth who, while it would be presumed she would support her husband's side, had no real investment in the fight to come. That afternoon in his Charles Town house she had come the closest she ever had to telling him why the idea of war upset her so. She said she had seen war, but she had said no more than that. Each time the talk had turned to war in her presence, she had withdrawn into her own thoughts, let the talk flow over and around her, and given no indication of what those thoughts were to the audience heatedly discussing the subject.

-X-

When war finally came back to South Carolina, James, like many other planters, waited to see if it would have an effect anywhere other than Charles Town. At the Collinses one evening, he stood on the columned piazza outside the card room smoking with several other men who had escaped the crowded ballroom and thought about the ball that had introduced Beth to their neighbors. Had he been a less honorable man, he could have found a way to carry her off, marry her himself before she married Will. The scandal would have been survivable. Instead, he had sacrificed his honor to lie often with his friend's wife. Now, they were on a path on which they could do nothing but continue to walk, she as Will's wife, he as Will's friend. He drew once more on his cigar. The one choice he had was to stop being her lover, and that was not a choice he was willing to make.

Will walked up to him and said, "You seem deep in thought, James."

He grunted but said nothing. He was more than a little in his cups, and he was afraid of what he might say to Will.

"It's nearly time to make a choice," Will said softly.

James squinted at his friend but, thankfully, realized Will meant between rebellion and the Crown before he said something about Beth. "I've made mine," James said.

Will lifted the glass he carried and drank. "You should reconsider, old friend." James waited, wondered what the other man would say. "America's day is here. The King is too far away and too disinterested in us to do what will need to be done to hold the Colonies. He can't afford this war, and while they'll go ahead and fight battles, it's already lost."

He exhaled. "I will be loyal to my lawful government, Will."

"It's good to know you draw a line, James."

James kept his gaze fixed on the tree line rather than look at Will. James heard a note of accusation in his friend's voice, and he wondered if, perhaps, Will had finally figured out what was happening between his wife and best friend.

When Will moved off, James decided to retire. He stubbed out the cigar in an ashtray and entered the stuffy ballroom. Beth sat quietly with her mother-in-law, and James edged around the other side of the room. He found his own mother and Katy, told them what he intended, and wished them good night. He had seen his mother's worried look, but he heard her tell Katy he was tired, had been working long hours. It was true, but there were other reasons James wished to be alone.

Two days later they returned to Oak Point, and a week later the rumors began. Stories filtered in that Charles Town had fallen to the British. Other stories arrived that General Cornwallis was pushing into the country. James and his mother had a serious late-night conversation about sending Katy to Montreal for safekeeping since Temperance Wilkins stubbornly refused to leave.

In the years since talk had first begun of seceding from British rule, as more and more planters, merchants, and others chose sides, there had been those who chose to settle personal scores using rebellion and loyalty as the measuring sticks for selecting targets. Thus far, Oak Point and the Wilkinses had escaped punishment. James had been careful to make no enemies, just as his father had been, and it mainly worked since he was an honest businessman, a man of integrity—except when it came to his liaison with Beth.

Within weeks, James found himself listening to guns, calculating how far away they were, and he knew he would have to decide soon. He had a good overseer, but unlike many of his fellow planters, there was no other male who could be left to run the plantation, and his mother was adamantly unwilling to manage it for him. Katy simply lacked the knowledge, let alone the strength of character required. He wondered if he could appeal to Robert Cameron to watch over his interests if he chose to do his duty to his king.

In the end, the decision was made for him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 12**

James spent a long day in the fields, not having the luxury some of his neighbors did of letting the slaves do all the work. Like his forebears, he had banked the money, invested what was needed to keep and grow the plantation at a moderate rate, but he also invested conservatively in labor, had chosen to purchase no more than were needed to sustain his family's wealth with that moderate rate of growth.

It was late when he came in, and by the time he had stabled and fed his horse, the grooms busy with the horses who had worked the fields, it was dark. He walked slowly toward the house, looked forward to his supper, and thought deeply about whether he might finally be able to persuade his mother to take Katy to Charles Town at the very least. He had heard more disturbing stories of what was happening to Loyalists in the neighborhood, and he didn't want such a fate to befall his family.

They wore hoods, and for some reason that angered him more than the blow that sent him to his knees before he saw them. If they were going to do such dirty work, it would be far more honest to do so by openly facing their intended victim. James got unsteadily to his feet and looked around him. He was outnumbered, counted at least ten men. He was fairly certain who three of them were. The Hendersons were all huge, taller even than James was, and of stocky build. He was willing to bet the three biggest ones who carried no weapons other than their huge fists were Benjamin, Michael, and Thomas Henderson. He eyed their bulky bodies and supposed he ought to be glad the fourth and least bulky Henderson, Tobias, wasn't there, if for no other reason than he suspected his sister was in love the youngest Henderson. The small skinny one he suspected was Matthew Gray, but the others he wasn't sure about, could have been just about anyone.

James was no fool, so he decided not to fight back. All that would accomplish was to give them an excuse to do him more damage than they would otherwise do. He had his mother and Katy to think of, and letting this mob kill him would do nothing to protect them. He would take the beating, hope that and some threats were all they intended, and pray they left his family and his people alone.

It began with insults. James said nothing, though he noted the distinctive damaged voice of Leon Jacobs. That meant he knew who five of them were, and he would remember. The second blow came from behind, just as the first had, and then they were on him. He defended himself against the worst of the blows, but he was careful not to incite them. He couldn't win, not when it was ten to one, and then he realized it wasn't ten to one—it was five to one. The other five were making sure his slaves didn't interfere.

He heard a scream, thought it might be Katy, but his vision was blurring. He felt something wet on his face and realized he was bleeding. He wheezed Katy's name, and there was an ugly laugh next to him. He rallied enough to plant an elbow in a groin—he thought it was Michael Henderson. He heard his own ribs crack when a boot connected with his chest. His last conscious thought was that it was Will Cameron's boot he saw rearing back to slam into him again.

-X-

James's first waking thought was that there wasn't an inch of him that didn't hurt. He made a groaning noise when he made the mistake of moving, and he felt something cool against his face. He couldn't get his eyes open, and he nearly panicked until he heard his mother's voice tell him to be calm. She quietly told him his eyes were swollen shut, "blacked by those monsters," and it all came back to him.

"Katy?" he wheezed, his chest exploding in pain.

"Is fine, thanks to the servants," his mother said. He didn't think he'd ever heard that tone in her voice before. "They killed Lem, though."

He was sliding away into sleep again, but he felt the loss of his manservant as sharply as he felt the breaks and bruises of his body.

-X-

The next time he woke, the pain was just as bad, but he could slit one of his eyes open a little. His mother still sat beside him, reading. It occurred to him that despite how his mother and Katy had originally disparaged Beth, she and his mother had some shared interests. He moved his leg, and his mother put her book down and stood to look at him.

He didn't try to smile since he thought his face might break—assuming it hadn't already. "Mother," he whispered.

She laid her cool hand on his forehead, and he wondered why mothers always did that, regardless of illness, regardless of injury. Put their children in bed, and they felt their foreheads. It felt good, though, he thought, and perhaps that's why they did it. Comfort. The human hand gave comfort. He winced when he breathed in too deeply and thought that it gave pain as well. In a moment, Bess was there, helping lift him so he could drink some water. He swallowed a groan as they laid him back, and he went back to sleep.

-X-

Bess was there the next time he was awake enough to remember. She asked him how he was, and he told her miserable. She gave a short, soft snort and told him he looked it. She took hold of him and lifted him again, propped him up on pillows and asked if he thought he could manage some broth. He didn't know if he could or not, but he nodded. When she went to fetch it, he looked around, surprised to realize he was at Hart's Crossing in the room where he had stayed as a boy when he visited Will.

James gave thought to how he could have wound up at Hart's Crossing, particularly since he was certain Will Cameron had been one of those who caused his injuries.

On the heels of that, he wondered if Will had also hurt Beth, if he knew that she and James had betrayed him, and if that had been the real reason he and the others had targeted him and Oak Point.

Katy was the one who eventually came in with the broth. She had fading bruises on her face, and she looked like she was about to cry. The bruises infuriated James, who had come to a special kind of hatred for men who hit women. Her hand shook when she tried to feed him, and after swallowing what she managed to get to his mouth, James asked quietly, "Why are we here and not home?"

"They burned Oak Point," she said.

He closed his eyes. Rebuilding would have to wait. He'd have to send her and his mother to Charles Town if he couldn't convince them to go to elsewhere—assuming he could safely get them anywhere else if he could even get them to agree to go. He and the slaves could put up a temporary cabin from which he could work, or he could move to the Smallwood farm. He had money to rebuild Oak Point, but it might be wiser to wait until after the war.

"James, it was awful," she choked. "I thought they had killed you."

"Mama and Bess always said I have a hard head," he joked faintly.

His sister scowled at him. "That's not funny."

He flinched, having made the mistake of trying to move to a more comfortable position. "No, Katy, it isn't." She looked stricken a moment, so, to distract her, he asked, "Aren't you supposed to be feeding that to me?"

The three women were his only visitors for the next several days. That suited him since he wasn't sure he could face being polite to Will or any of the other Camerons. He knew what he saw before he blacked out, and he knew he had not been mistaken. Will's boots were custom made, and each had a distinctive bit of stitching where the upper joined the lower foot.

-X-

He was only a little relieved when his first non-family visitor was Robert Cameron.

Will's father looked as though he had aged considerably. Robert asked how he felt, but James refrained from giving the other man the unvarnished truth: that he felt betrayed by the man's son. He simply said he had felt better.

Robert told him there had been several attacks on Loyalists the night they burned Oak Point. James held his tongue, let the man talk. He was told there had been further attacks since, that the gang behind this seemed intent on driving the Loyalists out to prevent Cornwallis's troops from finding assistance if or when they decided to move through the area. Of course Clinton's troops had moved through there before when the British arrived on their way to lay siege to Charles Town, but James suspected there was a more venal reason for the attacks, that it was simply greed or revenge for real or imagined slights. He supposed it was possible they were attempts to terrorize those who would support the Crown, but he suspected it was more a case of petty revenge.

He asked Robert what had happened to his people. The other man assured him that he was keeping an eye on Oak Point until James could do so himself. Two of the slaves had been killed, but the others were safely back at work. He told James they had given the house servants shelter at Hart's Crossing and that Katy and his mother were welcome to stay as long as they liked—James, too, for that matter.

James thanked Robert before he asked if there had been any trouble on the Cameron's land. Robert seemed embarrassed to admit that they had had no trouble. James knew why, and he wondered if Robert was aware of his son's activities.

His next visitor was Honoria. She looked like a cat that had swallowed a canary, and James pretended to fall asleep to speed her departure. It was inappropriate for her to be in his room alone, despite his incapacity, and he was half afraid of what might happen if she was caught there. She chattered on about balls and fashions, so it didn't take long for him to really go to sleep.

That didn't keep her away, though, and on another of her visits, she cocked her head at him and suggested, "There is one way to protect Katy and your mother—you, too," she told him.

James nearly retorted that he was more than capable of doing so and that there was more than one way to do so, but he caught something in her expression and said nothing. Honoria was intent on saying her piece, so he decided he might as well give her room to do exactly that.

A peculiar, reptilian smile tipped her lips. "You could marry me."

It was all he could do not to tell her no, profanities included, but he bit back what he truly wanted to say in favor of simply saying, "No."

"Really, James," she said, and he could hear the thread of anger in her voice, "you shouldn't reject the offer out of hand. After all, it is a very good way to convince my brother that you have well and truly learned your lesson where Anna-Elizabeth is concerned."

He thought she had known about Beth, and she'd just confirmed it. Whether she realized it or not, she'd also confirmed that Will's boot had broken his ribs, and her brother had also, likely, chosen him as that mob's target. It had had nothing at all to do with James's support of the Crown and everything to do with the fact that Will's wife preferred him to her husband.

James could admit none of that, though, so he simply closed his eyes for a moment or two and said with a sleepy tone, "I don't know what you mean."

Her laugh was ugly. "You know precisely what I mean, James. You've seduced my sister-in-law, cuckolded my brother, and you're fortunate he didn't kill you for it."

Taking that as confirmation that Will did, indeed, know, James chose to say nothing despite being curious. After all, Will hadn't challenged him directly or openly, had instead chosen to use a rebel mob to do most of the dirty work.

Honoria grasped his wrist. "Marry me, James, and you and yours will remain safe."

"I'll not marry until after the war," he told her, careful to sound once more like he was on the edge of sleep in hopes that she would take her leave.

She made a sound of frustration, and moments later flounced out of his room. He didn't completely dismiss her offer. He wouldn't marry her, not even at gunpoint, but she had threatened Katy and his mother, and that he took quite seriously. He would have to find a way to remove them from harm, and he turned his mind to how best to convince his mother to take Katy and leave.

-X-

Several nights later he lay alone in the dark and stared at the pattern of light and shadow on the ceiling, still no closer to convincing his mother of the very real danger they were in. Primarily, that was because he couldn't tell her the truth, couldn't tell her the reason they were all at risk. He heard his door open softly, and he rolled his head to see Beth enter. She put a finger to her mouth and made her way silently to his bed. She sat on the edge of his mattress, her face hidden in shadow, and whispered, "I don't have much time. Will should return soon." She moved to kneel beside him, leaned forward and kissed him softly.

She folded the bedcovers down to his hips and began to quickly examine his injuries. His breath froze in his chest. Her nimble fingers unbound his ribs so she could see the damage herself. She rebound them once she had done so and folded the covers further down, examining him with a thoroughness that might otherwise have embarrassed him. Satisfied, she covered him again and sat back on her heels. "You need to go as soon as you are able, James."

He reached for her hand. "Why, Beth?" and even he wasn't sure what he asked.

"Because Will is going to kill you."

It was clear she meant it. She leaned in to kiss him once more, and he caught her face with his other hand. She flinched, and he realized her face was bruised. He knew it had to have been Will, and her broken whisper confirmed it: "He knows, James."

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He searched her face in the dark. "How?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He didn't say, but you can't stay here. Go. Go to the army, go to England, go to the West Indies, go wherever you must. Robert will take care of your land for you, but if you stay, my husband will see to it you die." Her voice broke. "I couldn't bear that, James."

Her tears were like diamonds where the moonlight caught them. "Beth," he began, but she pressed her mouth to his, stopped what he needed to tell her.

When she lifted her head, she whispered, "I love you, James."

They had never said the words, had always shied away from them. To give voice to them would be to cross the last line. "I love you, too, Beth," he breathed and reached up for her mouth. He heard horses in the yard, though, and Beth must have heard them, too. She pressed her mouth fervently against his and then slipped off the bed, smoothed the covers and the feather tick below it and slipped back through what he recognized as the door to the dressing room that joined the room where he lay to the one he presumed she shared with Will.

He listened hard, heard Will come up the stairs and enter the room beyond the dressing room that separated it from the one where James lay. James knew he had to think of her as Will's wife not as his Beth. She said Will knew. Had James said something during the beating at Oak Point? Had he said something while he lay here in this bed? Had Beth slipped and said something? Had Bess or the maid Sukie said something about Beth wearing the maid's dress to visit him in Charles Town? Had Will followed her when she had come to meet James at the cabin or one of the other spots where they had met?

James started when he heard a faint thud, but then he realized it was Will's boot hitting the dressing room floor when he heard the second one thud on the carpet. He held his breath, wondered if Will would enter the room where he lay and what possible defense he might offer. He heard footsteps retreating, and he breathed a bit easier.

The next sound he heard was Will's voice, low and angry. He couldn't make out what was said, but he heard the sound of Will's hand striking flesh quite clearly. James sucked in a breath when pain shot through him as he struggled into a sitting position. His ribs felt on fire, and his breathing tortured him. He heard Will's muffled voice again and heard a heavy thud as something hit the floor. James was certain it was Beth falling this time. He could not lie there and let Will do this to her. He eased himself to the side of the bed and put his feet on the floor, steeled himself to stand.

As he was about to struggle off the mattress, the hallway door opened, and he wished he had a pistol. Through the pain, he decided he should have given Beth's sister Arianna one when she had asked the morning of the wedding.

"She won't thank you," the maid's soft voice said.

"He can't hit her like that," he insisted between gritted teeth.

The maid tipped her head and put her hands on her hips. That's when he noticed she was fully clothed. "You must have scrambled your brains more than we thought if you believe that, Mr. James. He can do whatever he likes with her short of killing her. She's his wife."

He started to protest but stopped. The girl was right. No man had ever been held accountable for beating his wife that he knew, unless her family had become involved, and Beth had no family in South Carolina. James nearly shivered as he thought of the one or two men he had heard of who had succeeded in killing a wayward wife with no penalty.

Sukie stepped toward him and whispered, "Let's get you back in that bed, Mr. James. Mrs. Will said to tell you to stay here and ignore whatever you hear."

It dawned on him then that Beth had sent the girl to keep him from doing something foolish. "He needs to be stopped," he said fervently.

"And who's going to do that?" she asked as she pushed him back. "Not me. Not you, either, unless you'd like to get dead, and that would break Mrs. Will's heart." He started to say something, but he thought better of it. She gave him a knowing look and said, "Mr. James, what the two of you been doing is supposed to be wrong, but you're about the only one who has been kind to that woman. I figure God can forgive a lot of things in this world, especially when they give someone a rare joy."

"How long have you known?" he asked, more to not hear Will's anger than out of any real desire to know.

The maid pulled the covers back up over him. "Since the day she came home from a ride with her clothes soaked and her bodice torn. There's only one thing that tears a dress like that, Mr. James." She moved to sit in the chair his mother and Katy usually occupied. "I've only known it was you since she borrowed my dress in Charles Town."

"She told you?"

"No, sir," she said. "Lem asked me what I was doing sneaking away from work to dally with you."

It had gone quiet in the other room, and the maid leaned forward and whispered, "If it's alright with you, Mr. James, I'm going to stay here until I'm sure he's asleep. Then I'll go to my room."

"Won't she need you?" he asked wearily.

"In the morning, Mr. James. It goes worse for her if I go to her sooner." After a moment, she added, "Me, too."

When Sukie finally slipped out of his room, the sounds Will made beating his wife had long ended, and James lay awake thinking. He couldn't leave Beth here, but she clearly expected him to do exactly that.

Perhaps Will would leave her be if he was gone, he thought wearily. He remembered that this was not the first time Will had beaten Beth. He wondered about Robert, about Helen Cameron and their daughters. It was beyond the bounds of credulity that none of them heard what Will did to her. He wondered why none of them did anything. He couldn't imagine Robert abusing a woman, but then he had never thought Will would, either. He thought about Katy, thought about how she had wanted to marry Will and how James would have given his permission had his friend asked for his sister's hand. He swallowed thickly, wondered if this was only because Will knew Beth had betrayed him or if it was how Will was made.

Katy slipped into his room early that morning, practically before dawn, and James noticed her pinched face. She looked like she hadn't slept the night before, and he sympathized, having lain awake all night himself. She asked how he was, and he told her he was better. There was obviously something bothering her, and James could guess what. Looking at her white face, he was certain she had heard what he had.

"Can we go to Charles Town?" she finally asked.

He nodded wearily.

"Could we go now?' she asked.

"I'll talk to Robert and see how soon we can manage it."

He closed his eyes a moment, wondered if, when it came to it, he would be able to leave Beth behind.

"James?" Katy's soft voice drew him to open his eyes again. She was hunched in the chair beside his bed, and she looked like she wanted to cry. "I never want to get married."

His voice broke when he said her name. Something else broke as well. He felt his body sag into the bed and closed his eyes, feeling years older than he was and a crushing guilt that he was likely responsible for his sister's distress.

"How can Will do that, James?" she sobbed. "How can she let him?"

"She doesn't have a choice, Katy," he said wearily. "Beth's his wife."

There was a silence, and he realized what he had said. "Beth?" Katy sounded bewildered. "James, what have you done?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

He sighed. "Nothing, Katy," he lied. "She doesn't have any friends here." He looked at his sister. "She has no friends and no family, Katy. That's why he can do that to her and no one stops him."

"I never want to get married," she repeated.

"I promise not to let someone like that marry you," he said. He reached out, and she put her hand in his. "I promise you don't have to marry unless you decide."

She squeezed his hand. "I wanted to marry him, James. He could be doing that to me." She sobbed again. "I don't think I should choose a husband."

He tugged his sister's hand, and she joined him on the bed, curled up beside him. He held her while she cried, and he wondered if Sukie had gone to Beth yet, wondered how badly she had been hurt and how he might find out. He wondered if Katy would recover from this loss of faith. He wondered what had happened after he'd been beaten unconscious that night because he had a feeling something had happened to Katy other than having listened to Will beat his wife the night before.

When she finished crying, he continued to hold her. "Katy," he finally began, but then he stopped, not sure what to ask or how.

"James, he killed Lem."

He froze. "Who, Katy?"

"Will," she whispered. "Lem was trying to stop them from taking me, and Will killed him. Then he told the others to leave me alone or he'd do the same to them." James started to ask how she knew it was Will, but she anticipated his question. "He wore a mask, James, but I would know his voice anywhere. I don't want to stay here. It makes me sick to look at him, makes me sick to listen to him."

He had nothing to say, so he simply held her. He thought she might have gone to sleep and wished Beth's maid would return so that he could as well. It was sometime later that he heard someone at the door, and when it pushed open and his mother entered with a tray, James hid his disappointment.

"Get off your brother, Katherine," she said briskly and sailed into the room. Katy obediently got off the bed while James struggled to sit up.

"You seem to be moving easier," his mother said. James nodded, and his mother handed him his food. "Then you can feed yourself. Katy, wash your face then run down and get your breakfast. I'll sit with James."

Food didn't tempt him, but he ate. He intended to get them on their way to Charles Town that day if at all possible. When he had eaten all he could, he handed the plate back. "James," she began, and from the censure in her voice, he knew what topic she intended to take up with him.

"I know, Mother," he said wearily. "I heard."

She studied him. "It's upset Katy."

"It upset me," he said quietly.

"Did you know Will was doing this?" she asked. He nodded. He'd seen bruises on her before, and he hoped he didn't have to explain how since they had only been visible when Beth was naked. "I sincerely hope I haven't raised a son who would condone such behavior."

He looked his mother in the eye. "Mother," he said quietly, "if I could have, I would have stopped it."

"Good," she said. Then she stood and folded her hands. "Do you think you are well enough to travel?"

James sighed. "I don't know, Mother, but I intend to see if Robert can send someone for our carriage." He didn't look forward to jouncing along the road to Charles Town, but he'd do it if it got him away from here. "About Beth," he said, and he realized he had once more used a name he shouldn't have.

"Son, I expect you to put a word in with Robert about Will's mistreatment of Anna-Elizabeth." It was not his imagination that she emphasized Beth's full given name. "Even I know there is nothing we can do." She lifted her chin a moment and said, "We will only speak of this once, James. I've seen the way you look at her. I've seen the way she looks at you. I sincerely hope that the two of you have done nothing to make Will believe he has the right to punish his wife."

He had never been able to lie to his mother, so he said nothing.

"May God forgive you, James."

As he watched her go, he realized that was the first time he'd ever heard her sound disappointed in him.

-X-

Sukie slipped into his room and quickly whispered that her mistress was not seriously hurt. He asked her to explain, and she said, "Bruised, Mr. James. He almost never seriously hurts her because he would have to explain." She slipped out again, but not before he asked her to have Robert come visit him.

While he waited, he idly wondered how Sukie defined seriously hurt.

Robert arrived not long before lunchtime. James sat up in the chair, staring blindly out the window. His mother had found clothes for him. He didn't ask how, but he knew none of them came from the household where he was since he was taller and broader than either of the Cameron men.

"I had a message that you wished to see me," Robert said, seating himself on the side of the bed.

"Katy and my mother would like to go to Charles Town," James said. His breath hitched. "I wondered if you could send for our carriage—assuming it survived the fire."

"James, it's late in the day to begin such a journey."

He looked over at Robert, and he could see the other man knew why they wanted to leave. "My sister," he said slowly, "is distraught because she heard Will abuse Anna-Elizabeth." He closed his eyes a moment and breathed in then out. "I don't think either of us can bear to hear it again, Robert."

Robert swallowed loudly in the quiet. "I don't know why my son—"

James cut him off. "But you do nothing to stop him," he ground out. "Would you want that to happen to Honoria? To Lydia? Maria?" He stared at Robert, disgusted. "You told me your son had unnatural appetites," he ground out. "Are you so thankful he has a wife that you can close your eyes and your ears to what he does to her?" His chest hurt, and he rubbed absently at it. "What do you think her family would do if they knew?"

"This is none of your business, James," Robert said quietly, but James had heard that one time too many.

"It became my business when I had to listen to it, when my sister and my mother had to listen to it," he said. "Anna-Elizabeth is your daughter-in-law, and she should be protected just as you protect your own daughters." He looked up at Robert. "If I had been able to, I would have stopped him."

Will's father promised to have the carriage sent for and then told James he would see to it that his mother and sister were packed and ready.

Bess came and helped him down the stairs and out to where the carriage stood. Will's parents and sisters were there to see them off, but Beth and Will were conspicuously absent. Robert assured him Oak Point would be cared for, but James silently promised to see to it that he didn't have to continue to rely on the Camerons.

It didn't take long for pain to overcome him. The road to Charles Town was not a particularly smooth one, and there were enough injuries to pain him as the carriage jostled and bounced. He tried hard not to let it get to him, had hoped the sleepless night before would allow him to sleep on the way, but the jarring pain woke him from time to time. He opened his eyes and saw Katy's frightened expression, and he heard his mother and Bess whisper furtively. He was given something to drink, and then he became very sleepy. As he dropped off, he suspected they had given him laudanum.

The next thing he knew, there were soft, cool hands removing his shirt. He smiled. _Beth_. _Beautiful Beth_. He slid back to sleep then, and he dreamed of her.

-X-

Healed once more, James secured the services of a man of affairs to manage Oak Point. He travelled with the man to his home to find Katy had been mistaken; the house had been set afire, but the slaves had doused it and repaired the damage. Unable to bear living so close to Hart's Crossing and knowing he could no longer risk Beth's safety by continuing to see her, he installed the man, a younger son of a distant cousin of his father's, as the manager and returned to Charles Town. Before leaving, he arranged to have his mother's and sister's personal belongings sent to them as well as his own. As a precaution, he collected the family papers, deeds, bills of sale for slaves and other property, and he took them with him to Charles Town where he had them copied and then gave a set to his mother with instructions to safeguard them. The other set he arranged to send to his English solicitor.

Three weeks later, he purchased a commission as a captain and joined the British Legion where he found himself posted to one of the loyalist cavalry units—the Green Dragoons—under the infamous Colonel William Tavington.


	13. Chapter 13

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 13**

Army life suited James well enough. He was used to long days and hard work, but he wasn't used to not being his own man. The army told him what to wear, what to eat, and when to do it. It also told him when he could sleep and for how long. That was fine, especially when he spent so much time in the saddle he was too weary to think of Beth, too weary to worry about how she was or whether Will left her alone now that he was gone. He had considered writing Robert to ask how she was, but each time he had sat down to do so, he had been unable to find the right words to write without making clear his improper interest in the man's daughter-in-law—assuming Robert didn't already know. It was just as well James hadn't as he eventually learned that Robert had died of an apparent apoplexy not long after James had entered His Majesty's army.

Life as a captain in the cavalry was not as dashing as people assumed. Mostly it was hard riding alternately punctuated by intense moments of trying not to get killed and eased by slower moments spent in camp waiting to start it all again.

When he was first introduced to his commander, Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington, he'd had his first second thoughts. The man's disdain was clear, but in hindsight, James could hardly blame him. After all, the Colonel had been forced to deal with some of James's perfidious neighbors, men who'd been caught fighting for the rebels and had been paroled before breaking that parole. A few had left the English and gone over to the rebels as well.

James would simply have to prove he could be trusted, especially after he claimed, in a moment of unguarded candor, that his neighbors who sided with the rebels deserved to die traitor's deaths. Admittedly, he would enjoy seeing Will Cameron suffer so, especially since James was convinced he didn't have true conviction for the rebel's point of view, but that cool assessment from Colonel Tavington and his skeptical, "We'll see," had James almost wishing he could call the words back.

He hadn't been with the Dragoons long when they were joined by another new captain. He recognized Beth's brother, and the boy gave him a nod and a firm handshake. James asked after his sister, thought the boy would know if Beth was safe, but Ramsdell frowned and said, "I had hoped you could tell me how she is. I've not heard from her since I last saw her."

And this, James told himself, was why he should learn to keep his mouth shut. James was taken aback, though, knew Beth had written her family as she had told him what she wrote to them. "I haven't seen her recently," he prevaricated. He didn't want to tell the boy his sister had been abused, and for all he knew was still being ill-used, though it might provide the explanation for why Ramsdell hadn't heard from her.

He pushed his concern for Beth out of his mind. The rebel leader, the Ghost they called him, was keeping them too busy for James to have time to spare many thoughts for her. He rode with his troop, did what he was ordered. As he did so, James noticed something about Ramsdell. The boy had been quiet, reserved, almost painfully shy when he came for Beth's marriage, particularly in comparison to the precocious Arianna, but in the field, he was self-assured, almost too much so.

Ramsdell was a good soldier. He, like his sister, had a good seat, and he fought well, was rarely injured, and when he was, those injuries were always insignificant. The men began talking about the boy's preternatural luck, but James had come to realize it was agility and skill rather than luck. He was well-trained, and one night as they camped with their soldiers, he asked him about his training. Ramsdell finished chewing his rations, no mean feat in itself, and told James he had begun military training when he was five. James knew he was a year younger than Beth, so the boy—man—had had an impressive number of years' experience with arms. According to Ramsdell, he had joined a lancer unit when he was sixteen and had worked his way up the ranks to major.

James asked if commissions were purchased in his country, thinking of the young officers he had met in the British army whose primary qualifications for rank were that they could afford it. There were some excellent officers among the English, but there were some idiots who were only there for the adventure as well. Ramsdell shook his head. "All are welcome, and skill and experience are how we advance."

Privately, James suspected that being a member of the royal family had eased Ramsdell's advance through the ranks, but he said nothing. No one could deny the boy had skills.

Ramsdell leaned back against a fallen log. "Do you Colonials always fight like these rebels?"

James wasn't sure how to answer that. The Continental Army had officers and some soldiers who by and large had been trained by the British, but the militia, even some of the Loyalist militias, seemed to have learned from the Indians. He explained that to Ramsdell, who nodded thoughtfully.

"Their tactics are interesting and devastatingly effective used against men who expect their foe to behave as they do," the other man said. "Warfare changes, evolves, and I suspect the world had better prepare itself for such things. We've seen something similar in the north of my country—small bands of rebels attacking carefully chosen targets, usually not military and usually those which will instil the most fear in citizens. If they engage our troops, they do so in ambush. My cousin Maldon suspects they are only a relatively small group, and so long as they remain so, they'll simply be an annoyance."

James could hear the unspoken _but_. "Beth told me she had been in the north and had seen war. Did she mean one of those attacks?"

His question earned a sharp look from Ramsdell. "Anna-Elizabeth told you what happened to her?"

To buy time, James drew deeply on the cigar he had lit. It was a rare indulgence, particularly since cigars were difficult to come by and he didn't have many, but James preferred them to a pipe.

Ramsdell looked at him expectantly, so he considered how to answer the boy's question. He knew she hadn't been raped, was probably the only man who could say so with confidence, but he wasn't about to admit that, especially not to her brother who could efficiently eviscerate him before he finished his statement. He had seen the shadows in Beth's eyes, had seen her flinch from the sounds of guns, had seen her shrink from drunken men. Something traumatic had happened to her, but she had never specified what. He knew that terrible things could happen to women that were short of rape, though. "No," he conceded, "at least not beyond what I just said."

"May I ask how you came to call her Beth?" Ramsdell asked his question carefully, his voice not unlike that of a man in shock or who wanted to be very clear about what was being asked.

"When your sister arrived in South Carolina," James began, "she had few friends. I took her riding one morning, and she asked me to stop calling her 'Your Highness.' When she invited me to call her Anna-Elizabeth, I told her it was a lot of name for a little bit of a woman, and she told me the Princess Arianna calls her Beth." He lifted the cigar again. "I mean no disrespect to your sister, hold her in the highest regard."

Beth's brother pulled his knees up and rested his hands over them. "Anna-Elizabeth was always happiest as a child with her nose pressed in a book. Our mother was rarely in residence, and because she was mother's spare, the only interest in her was as a bargaining chip. She was taught the things women are taught to be a good wife, but our uncle the King came to understand her greater value. When he realized she has a keen intelligence, he provided her an unusual education. When she was fourteen, she became interested in canon law and church teachings. There was a remarkable priest, recently raised to bishop, in her duchy who tutored her."

James stared at him. _Duchy?_ Then he thought, hell, she was a princess. Why did her being a duchess as well surprise him so? Because she hadn't told him, he acknowledged, and because it served to remind him how far out of his reach she was.

"When she was sixteen," Ramsdell continued, "she told our uncle she thought she might have a vocation. Needless to say, he was not best pleased to have the only marriageable royal daughter of her generation tell him she might wish to take up religious orders." Ramsdell gave a wry smile and stared at the fire. James, however, was shocked by the notion of Beth, passionate, fiery Beth, locked away in a convent leading a quiet life. He remembered the morning she told him she had nearly become a nun, and he remembered he hadn't taken it very seriously. "My uncle, however, decided that it might not be so bad to marry her to the church rather than a man, so he allowed her to go to St. Cecilia's where one of his cousins was the Mother Superior. They have a fine convent school there, but not fine enough, apparently, for Uncle Alexandre sent her tutors, particularly masters in politics and economics."

Ramsdell smiled again and glanced over at James. "He was still training her, whether she realized it or not, for life as the wife of a political ally—or enemy."

James wondered again in the ensuing silence whether or not she would have actually taken orders. He had noticed no signs of extreme devotion, had, in fact, noticed that when grace was said, she did not bow her head. When she attended church with the Camerons, she seemed interested in what was being said, but he had assumed her failure to participate in communion and other parts of the service stemmed from belonging to another faith. He knew Beth had steadfastly refused to convert, which had nearly derailed her wedding to Will.

"I tell you that," Ramsdell continued, "because it will help explain what happened next. The training she had received for life as a royal wife would also serve her well as leader of a religious house, and Anna-Elizabeth was fast approaching the time when she would have to choose—become a novice in an order or return to the secular world and marry when a husband was chosen for her." Ramsdell sighed. "I visited her. She spent an entire night arguing her choice. On the one hand, the contemplative life would allow her to pursue her academic interests unimpeded and without the distraction of children and a husband. On the other hand, she liked children, had missed Arianna. She would have considerable power in her own right as a Mother Superior, but as a wife she could, possibly, shape power in such a way that a greater good could be accomplished, one well beyond what she might achieve in the church. By morning, she had made no decision."

The boy stretched his legs out again, and James considered lighting another of his few remaining cigars. "My soldiers and I took our leave and rode out to hunt a particularly vicious rebel band known to be in the area. Two hours later, a young curate caught up with us. He was bruised and bleeding and told us we were needed at St. Cecilia's, that the men we hunted had sacked the convent."

James stared at Ramsdell as his face turned stony. "They raped and butchered most of the women there, including the young girls who were there to study. Our cousin, the Mother Superior, had hidden Anna-Elizabeth and three young, foreign princesses away, ordered my sister to protect the girls and not to interfere or show herself regardless of what she might see or hear.

"One of the rebels found them and dragged them out of hiding. Apparently, Anna-Elizabeth was recognized, and the rebels were smart enough to realize she had value as a hostage but only so long as she was unharmed. Her charges were not so fortunate."

Ramsdell looked down at his boots. "She saw it all, and we let the rebel leader have an honorable death because he stopped his men from physically harming her." The young man looked up, blinked rapidly, and James saw he tried to stop tears. "One hour. If I had tarried even an hour, it likely would not have happened. They would have looked for another target."

James wondered what kind of man could do such a thing, particularly to unprotected women and children. The rebels they currently faced were largely targeting the military, though he acknowledged that some of the rebel bands also targeted Loyalist families. There had been rapes and assaults, but not on the scale of what Ramsdell described, not on the scale of what Beth had witnessed. He wondered that she had allowed him to touch her at all after having seen what men under the spell of lust could do.

Once again, Ramsdell picked up the story, once more under control. "My sister was covered in blood when we arrived. I thought at first—" he swallowed thickly "—but she assured me she was safe, that the blood was not hers. She had been helping an elderly priest who served as physician with those who were still alive or dying. There she was, clad in a white habit stained in crimson, bruised and bloody. The blood was in her hair, on her face, on her hands. She was shaking, and when we approached her, she looked me in the eye and told me to find and kill the bastards." He paused. "I did."

Having seen the boy in action, James could all-too easily picture what Ramsdell described.

"She lost so much that day—friends, family, faith. In many ways, she lost what innocence she still had. It didn't take long for word to spread. By the time I got her back to the capital, word had spread before us. Nearly everyone assumed the worst, and Anna-Elizabeth was suddenly an outcast. Women wanted to know the salacious details, especially what it had been like to be raped, and men propositioned her. A few practically assaulted her. She had suddenly gone from being a prize to the man fortunate enough to win her hand to someone they merely wanted to bed. She stopped going out in public because she couldn't bear the whispers and the stares. She abandoned her faith, told the Archbishop that God had abandoned her and the women at St. Cecilia's when he berated her refusal to attend services."

"How, then, did she meet Will?" James had not intended to ask that, had not intended to betray his interest in Beth. He'd heard Will's version, that they had met in a portrait gallery, but Beth had never really answered him when he had once asked.

Ramsdell sighed again and his face twisted in a grimace. "Maldon, our cousin, couldn't take her moping any longer and dragged her out. He took her to the Falken Gallery at the national museum out of some well-meaning scheme to get Anna-Elizabeth to remember that her ancestors were women who bowed to no one, who fought back rather than gave in. Your Will was there in front of our mother's portrait, and he spoke to her." Beth's brother studied James a moment. "I mean no disrespect to your friend," he said, "but she was seduced by a pretty face. She saw him again a few days later after she visited the royal library, and then they met at a ball. He attended with a particularly unsavory earl."

"Unsavory?" James asked. Knowing what he now knew about Will, he suspected what the young man said next.

"Understand that I make no accusations here. It may well be that your friend was unaware of who this man is and what his predilections are, but he's a notorious—well, I'm not sure what you would call him, but he has a taste for handsome young men when he takes lovers." Ramsdell didn't meet his eyes this time.

James sat back and thought about that. It fit in with what Robert had said about his son, and it fit as well with what Beth had told him the first time they were together. "Will is no longer my friend," he said quietly, "and I fear that your suspicions are correct. I have heard that Will's tastes may be similar to those of your earl."

Ramsdell's face remained carefully blank. James hoped his own did as well. The boy sighed. "I knew this would not end well," he said quietly. "I begged Anna not to marry him—before she left our home and once I arrived here. I offered to pay the Camerons for any expenses or loss of face if Anna backed out of the wedding, but she insisted on going through with it." He sighed once more. "Anna has always believed that once she gives her word, it must be kept, regardless of whether or not it is wise to do so."

Torn between telling her brother what he knew about Beth's marriage and keeping silent, James sat back and wished desperately for a bottle of whiskey.

The younger man looked over at James. "My sister does not love him, admitted as much before she left our home, and I have never believed he loved her. If anything, I always felt he had reasons for marrying her that had nothing to do with the woman she is."

"She is in danger," James said quietly. Her brother sat upright and stared hard at him. James debated continuing, thought carefully in the spotlight of that grey-eyed stare about the possible reactions of Beth's brother. In the end, he said what he felt he must: "Will abuses her."

"You know this, how?" the younger man said through gritted teeth.

"Because I have seen the bruises and because I heard him do so."

Ramsdell came to his feet and drew his sabre. James found the point inches from his jugular. "And you did nothing to stop him?"

"I wasn't in any condition to do so," James said quietly. Other men in the troop had drawn weapons but held back to see what was going on between the two captains. "Put your sword away, Ramsdell," he said carefully. "You're disturbing the men."

The boy looked around and sheathed his sword once more. "Tell me why you let your friend harm my sister."

"I didn't let him," James said tersely, "but I couldn't stop him because I was bedridden, and your sister told me not to interfere." His words caused Ramsdell's jaw to drop. The boy recovered himself quickly. "Sit down and I'll tell you the rest—but promise you won't run me through until it's all said."

When Ramsdell had resumed his seat, James told him all of it—from causing Beth pain the night he stopped her fall in the Cameron's parlor to the last night he had seen the man's sister, how he had come to be at Hart's Crossing in the first place and how she had come and told him to leave as soon as he could because Will meant to kill him. He finished by explaining that she had sent her maid to prevent him from interfering.

The younger man was ghostly pale. James once more wished for whiskey. It had been a few months since he last saw Beth, a few months since she whispered that she loved him and left to face her husband, and he had no idea whether or not she was still alive. Her brother visibly struggled with his own thoughts. "There's something you're not telling me."

James's head shot up. "Beg pardon?"

Ramsdell's glacial eyes held his. "You have left something out, Captain."

He shouldn't have started this, he acknowledged. There was, in truth, quite a bit he had chosen not to tell Beth's brother, and to tell him now would invite him to run him through. He deserved it, too, he acknowledged, for having seduced her. Ramsdell's head tilted to the side as he studied him in the firelight. "You are her lover." There was no inflection in the other man's quiet voice. James's head jerked up and down once. He tensed, expected to have to defend his life, but Ramsdell simply went limp, turned his gaze on the fire. He breathed in a ragged breath and blew it out before saying to James, "I couldn't imagine her submitting to her husband. I find it equally difficult to believe she has a lover."

He was not certain whether or not he should be insulted. He decided, eyeing the lad's stunned expression, he should not. "I didn't mean it to happen."

"I'm certain you didn't," Ramsdell said faintly.

James told himself to shut up. Ramsdell had every right to demand satisfaction. He would be very lucky to not find himself in a duel, had been lucky, in fact, that Will had not demanded such from him. He had seen the Prince in action, and he had no desire to face him, knew full well the younger man was far more skilled than he with a blade.

"Tell me one thing," the boy said quietly. "Do you love her?"

It should have been easy to say, but James was surprised at how hard it was to answer the question. He had become accustomed to keeping it to himself, and a part of him was still convinced telling Ramsdell was madness. "I do."

"Arie thought as much," Ramsdell replied. "I discounted it as wishful thinking on her part. She also insisted Cameron had hurt Anna. I didn't believe it. Your friend is quite charming, and it was difficult to believe him capable of it."

"I didn't believe it, either," James confessed, "until I saw the evidence myself."

"How long?"

He tried to figure out what Ramsdell was asking—how long Beth's husband had beaten her or how long she and James had been lovers. The boy stared at him again, and James decided to answer the first: "Since before they married, though Will apparently waited until after the wedding before he began to seriously hurt her."

"Mind if I ask how you found out—other than her stumble?"

There was a tightness in Ramsdell's voice, and James began to wonder if he would take Will's punishment before this conversation was over. "She met me at a cabin on a small farm I had purchased. I saw the bruises, and I made her tell me how she got them." He sighed. "I wanted her to leave Will, let me protect her, but she refused."

"Is that when you became lovers?"

He shook his head. "After." He remembered that afternoon quite clearly, remembered how she found him in the rain, how he had finally succumbed to temptation and how they had continued to meet whenever possible.

Ramsdell asked no more questions, and James offered no more confessions. They turned in not long afterward, but sleep eluded James for most of the night. He felt, somehow, he had betrayed Beth. It was entirely possible Ramsdell would kill his sister for her infidelity, but somehow he doubted it.

-X-

He continued to do his job, chased the Ghost and his men, hunted other rebels and engaged them in battle. Ramsdell never mentioned James's relationship with Beth, and James was glad for it. He continued to worry about her, though.

His troop and Ramsdell's were patrolling together when he learned the younger man's secret. Ramsdell's remarkable luck finally ran out on him. Beth's brother took a musketball to his left side, and James had been the first to reach him when they had finally dispatched the rebels. "Don't let the surgeon near me," Ramsdell had said vehemently, when James started to beckon the man over.

He looked down at the boy, read the pained, intent expression on his face. "Why not?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Ramsdell grimaced. "It'll be the end of my career with the Dragoons," he grunted, "and the wound is not serious enough to merit that."

Tavington appeared before them, and James looked up at his commandant. "Well?" the Colonel snapped out.

"Flesh wound," Ramsdell said, struggling to sit up. James tried unobtrusively to help him do so.

Tavington's pale blue eyes bore down on them. "Have the company surgeon take a look at him," he said to James, who nodded.

When the Colonel was gone, Ramsdell sucked in a pained breath. "You'll do no such thing."

"I'm not suicidal," James said, acknowledging indirectly Tavington's reputation. "You'll see the surgeon."

"I can't," Ramsdell said.

He frowned. "Why not?" He looked down and realized there were bandages around the area where Ramsdell had been shot. Had the boy been wounded before and not told anyone? He had said, though, that it would end his career for the surgeon to examine him, and suddenly James remembered two things: Beth had said she had two sisters—and Jorie. She had not been the one who said Joran was her brother. That had been Will. The other was that he had thought when they met that Ramsdell could pass for a girl, and he considered how even after days in the saddle, Ramsdell never showed a beard. He searched his memory and came up with the name. "You're Ghislaine."

She gave a curt nod. "The ball went through without hitting anything important," she hissed. "If you will help me, I can avoid the surgeon and a discharge." It went against James's better judgment, but he nodded and Jorie—Ghislaine—who asked him to help her up. When the surgeon stopped by them, Ramsdell and he assured the man she was fine, had barely been wounded. The surgeon handed over some bandages and moved on to those more gravely hurt. Ghislaine, with his help, bandaged the wound. James noticed with relief that it did not look as serious as it could have been.

After James helped her clean and bandage the wound, she put up a hand. "Later, Captain," she said. "I'll explain later. In the meantime, please tell no one."

Her men were glad to see her on her feet when she rejoined them, and James realized he would have to be careful how he addressed her, so it would be best if he continued to think of her as he. That might be easier than it had been with Beth, he realized because Ghislaine was so very good at being a soldier.

It was two days before James could get his explanation. He spent the next two days in the saddle chasing the Ghost. James had begun to suspect he might know who the Ghost was, but he kept his counsel, not wanting to make a false accusation. If he was right, they would have a very difficult time running the man to ground. The man James suspected knew every inch of the surrounding country, and he had many friends who would willingly hide and aid him. It didn't help that Tavington's rather brutal methods were winning the Ghost friends he might otherwise not have had.

Tavington sent Ramsdell and James on a joint patrol, and that night, he and Beth's sister sat up, separate from the men and talked through the next day's operations. When they had finished plans for the following day, Ramsdell sat back, much as he—she—had done when they had spoken of what had happened to Beth before she married Will and said, "I owe you an explanation."

James pulled out a cigar, sure this would be a rather lengthy discussion and possibly a disturbing one.

"I am Ghislaine Danielle Maria Joran Ramsdell du Mare. I have many titles, but the one I will inherit from my mother is the one that matters: Princess Falken."

He grunted. "So you really are Joran Ramsdell."

She gave him a wide grin. "I really am."

"Why the pretense? And why the Dragoons?"

The grin twisted to a rueful grimace. "My uncle the King was invited by your King to support his efforts to crush this rebellion. He had intended to send the English my cousin Maldon."

"The Crown Prince."

She eyed James thoughtfully. "Anna explained the family relationships, I take it?"

He grunted an affirmative.

"Uncle Alexandre decided to send me as well. He thought if one of us were with the Americans and one with the English, he could. . . ."

Ramsdell trailed off. James lowered his cigar and blew out smoke. "Play both sides off the other?"

The young woman snorted. "That's not the official explanation, but I think you rather have the right of it. Maldon is with Washington, and I'm here. He sent me here because he worried that Anna might have need of me, and if I were with Cornwallis in the South, relatively near to where she is, he thought Cornwallis's sentimentality about family might compel him to let me go to her should she need me."

"He didn't count on Cornwallis being a complete ass, did he?" James said snidely. The man was not what he'd expected, though he was a good General.

Her mouth curled, "No, he didn't."

He didn't question whether or not she was truly a major in the lancers at home. Her martial skills were enough that he believed. He had also taken the time to read up on her family after Beth had explained her rather unusual upbringing. "I understand it's pretty common for the Falken heiress to dress as a man and go elsewhere to learn about war."

She nodded. "Did Anna tell you that?"

He shook his head, sure he blushed. "I read Brown's _Peculiarities of the du Mare Royal Family_."

This time Ramsdell snorted. "Do me a favor and only believe about a tenth of what he wrote." She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. "He got that part right, and for the most part he was at least sympathetic to the Princesses Falken—probably because he was in love with my great great grandmother. So much of it, though, he got hopelessly wrong." She frowned once more. "Please tell me the book isn't widely known here?"

James heard the concern in her voice, and he knew she was worried for Beth and not for herself. "No. My father had a copy for some inexplicable reason, but I know of no one else. Will's parents recognized the Falken title, but it's entirely possible my father had lent the book to Robert at some point."

Ramsdell nodded. Then she asked the question James had hoped to avoid. "How is it you came to be her lover?"

He shrugged, not sure he knew the answer to that. "When your sister stepped to the gangway of _The Delilah_, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was disappointed to learn she was Will's princess. As I got to know her, I fell in love with her." He stopped there. He couldn't claim not to have made advances to Beth, and he didn't want to tell Ramsdell that in the end she had come to him. The fault lay with him regardless of how it came to be.

"I'll ask no more," Ramsdell said.

"May I ask a question?" James said after a while. Beth's sister lifted a brow and nodded. "Most men would call me out for having seduced their sister." He stopped, chagrined.

"Let's just say I'm not most men," Ramsdell said with a broad smile. "But to answer the question you still haven't quite asked, Anna and I were raised with a different view of morality. In my case, I will not marry. In Anna's, she was prepared for the fact that she would likely have no choice in who her husband would be. We were both taught, however, that if one has the right partner, sex should be a pleasurable experience. I suspect, given Will's apparent predilections, Beth finally decided that if she was trapped in a marriage with a man who would never touch her . . . and I assume she was expected to reproduce?"

James nodded.

"Her only choice, then, was to take a lover. Her greatest risk, though, was to become pregnant and for it to become obvious to those other than Will that the child was not his. I assume Will was prepared to look the other way had her lover proven not to be you or one of the slaves."

While he mulled that over, James noted that Ramsdell made it sound like any convenient man would have done. He really didn't like that idea at all.

"However," she added, "I know my sister, and I know how repulsed she is by our mother's life and her choices. She may have turned her back on God, but she never completely turned her back on the Church's teachings. If she chose to go against her own moral code, then I have no doubt that she loves you." Ramsdell looked over at him. "She would not have taken the risk she did otherwise."

-X-

It was the last private conversation he had with Ramsdell for weeks. The chase for the Ghost heated up, and they rotated patrols enough that James seemed to only meet the other captain coming and going. Tavington had called most of his troops in, and when he had his officers together, he turned to James and said, "Wilkins, you live near here, do you not?"

He agreed that he did. They were only about ten miles from Oak Point's southern edge.

"Where's the closest property friendly to the Crown?"

James thought a few minutes. If Robert Cameron were still alive, it would be Hart's Crossing, but since he had died and because Will supported the rebels, he could not be sure that Helen's sympathies lay with the Crown. "My property is ten miles to the north, but there is a property between here and there that might be."

Tavington's sneer made an appearance. "Might be?"

James drew a deep breath. "My neighbors, the Camerons, are a divided family. The father was loyal, but I received word he passed away. The son fights for the rebels." He decided that there was no need to mention Beth or her connection to Ramsdell.

It made no difference. Tavington knew, apparently, for he turned his arctic gaze on Beth's sister. "You are related by marriage to this family, are you not?"

Ramsdell nodded. "My sister Anna-Elizabeth is married to the son, William."

Tavington's brows rose, and he said, "I believe we shall pay a visit to the Camerons."

As they rode to Hart's Crossing, James was uneasy. Ramsdell, too, was preoccupied, and he wondered if her concern was the same as his. Tavington tended to burn the homes of those who were not loyal to the King. Beth would be turned out with the other Camerons, and while he suspected his mother would take the Camerons in so long as Will did not come along, James was concerned about the consequences for Beth, particularly if Helen knew he had bedded Will's wife.

James schooled his features as they rode up the lane to the house. The last time he had been there had been one of the most painful experiences of his life. He barely remembered leaving for Charles Town, and he was apprehensive about seeing Beth again. He would be sorry to see the house put to torch, especially since he had many happy memories of the place, and yet he was torn by the conflicting desire to return the harm Will had inflicted at Oak Point. He'd had a letter from his mother telling him she and Katy had returned to the plantation, so he wondered if his mother and sister had remained unmolested by those who sympathized with the Ghost and the rebels.

The column spread out behind Tavington as they approached the porch that fronted the house. James found himself next to Ramsdell, and he suspected Beth's sister had maneuvered herself into that particular position. He appreciated the thought if she had done so.

Helen and her three daughters came out of the house, but it was the butler who stepped to the ground before Tavington and said, "You're welcome to water your horses and rest here, but my mistress would prefer that you all move along once you've done so."

James studied Tavington's rigid back. His colonel turned to his most trusted captain, Bordon, and told the man, "Empty the stables. Take what horses are useful, then torch the buildings."

His voice carried to Helen Cameron. She stepped forward, and James wondered what appeal she might make to his colonel. To his surprise, it was Joran Ramsdell she addressed instead. "We have suffered great loss due to this war. We are family. I beg you to persuade your commander to leave us be."

Not surprisingly, Ramsdell looked at her coldly. "Madame, I will not plead your case."

Helen's eyes narrowed on James then. "What lies has he told you?" she demanded.

Tavington broke the tense silence, told the men to water their horses and take their ease. He finished by stepping his horse slowly closer to where Helen Cameron fumed at the bottom of the steps. "We will do as you ask, Madame, will rest and then move on, but I fear your home is forfeit."

James watched Helen closely. "Forfeit?" she spat. "For what?"

"Your son's treason," Tavington returned easily. "I will, however, allow you and your daughters to take whatever you can from your home while my men are at ease. When it is time for us to remount, we will fire the house."

Before she could make further protest, Tavington added, "I suggest you use the time wisely."

"One moment," Ramsdell said as Helen started up the steps calling for the servants.

Watching her whirl around, James saw the malicious look on her face before she asked Ramsdell, "Your sister?" She shot a triumphant look at James before she continued. "Anna-Elizabeth died in childbirth."


	14. Chapter 14

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 14**

James was lightheaded, couldn't breathe because a tight band strangled his chest like a noose. If Beth had been pregnant, he was absolutely certain the child had been his, and he couldn't even get the air he needed to call Helen Cameron back and ask if the child lived. If it had survived, he could not claim it. He knew that. He would like to see it, though, would like to have one last reminder of Beth.

He became aware of Jorie's voice saying his name softly. He looked over at her. "Dismount, James," she ordered quietly when she realized she had his attention. "Dismount before you fall off and have to explain."

Beth's sister was whitefaced when she took Ares's reins and led him off to water. James was about to sink to the ground beneath a spreading oak when one of the house servants, Jonah, he realized, brought him something to drink. "Mr. James," he said. "Miss Lydia said to feed the officers." James took the water but knew he wouldn't be able to eat, so he told Jonah he wasn't hungry. He wouldn't be able to choke down the food if his life depended on it.

"Are they going to burn, the house?" Jonah asked. James nodded mechanically. "Where will we go?"

As he shook his head, it occurred to James to ask, "Are my mother and Katy still at Oak Point?" They had, against his advice, returned to the plantation rather than stayed in Charles Town.

"Yes, sir," the man said, "but your mama and Mrs. Robert had a bit of a falling out after you went to soldier."

"If you need a place to shelter," he said, well aware the offer he was about to make would open doors to accusations he didn't want to hear from any Cameron, "my mother will take you in. Tell her I sent you."

The nod Jonah gave him was hesitant, and though he thanked him, James knew the slave couldn't accept. Jonah then tried once more to get him to take food. James almost asked if there was whiskey available, but he didn't, sank instead to sit against the tree's trunk. He would wait until he was home and had his privacy.

When Jorie finally returned, she dropped down next to him. "I'm sorry, James."

He rolled his head to look at her, but her face was blurry. He realized tears had gathered. "I think I should be telling you that."

There was something wrong with the smile Jorie attempted. "When they vacate the house, let's see if we can find that little maid they provided Anna, see if she can tell us what happened."

They said no more, watched the servants pull wagons up before the house and franticly begin loading them. Through the stabbing pain of Beth's loss, James, oddly, noticed that they started with the women's clothes. He felt like snorting. Beth—his mother and sister, too, for that matter—would have seen to more practical items first.

Several minutes passed before Jorie softly said, "James." When he looked at her, she asked, "Anything strike you as strange about that?"

He followed the hand she waved at the wagons. "Other than Helen Cameron doesn't have a lick of sense about what to take?"

"That's partly what I meant," she said. "Anna liquidated a number of things before she left home. She brought hundreds of pounds worth of gold with her. She also brought a number of household goods that had great value. They've not brought out a single thing that belonged to her."

As he stared thoughtfully at the activity around the wagons, James sat up. "I haven't seen her maid, either," he said. "Is it possible they've put Beth's things in with theirs?"

"I suppose so," she allowed, "but I would have made use of her trunks, where, presumably they packed her things away."

James was glad she didn't add _when she died_. He was about to make a comment, but Tavington strode up to them. "Take some men and search the house. Make sure all the people are out. If there's anything of use to us, take it." James knew he and Jorie were getting the job because they had been in the house before.

Both he and Beth's sister chose men they trusted not to loot the place. They sent them in ahead and swept through the rooms behind them. James felt a few pangs for happier days, but he was haunted by Beth as he made his way through. He halted a moment in the room where he had last seen her. For a second, he considered lying on the bed and letting them fire the house around him, but he moved on. After all, his death would not bring her back, and he doubted Jorie would let him do so.

When he and Ramsdell made their way back down the main staircase, he realized there had not been a single sign that Beth had ever resided there. He had hoped he might find some small something of hers he could take to remember her by, but it was as if after her death they had thoroughly purged her existence.

Outside again, Jorie nodded at Tavington who turned to give the order, but a woman came racing around from the back of the house. James recognized Sukie, Beth's maid. He urgently bade Jorie to stop the Colonel and ran toward the maid.

"You have to stop them, Mr. James!" she panted. "Mrs. Will is in there."

James had a moment where he thought he must be hearing what he wanted to rather than what the girl said. Then he decided Sukie was unhinged by grief. "She's dead."

"No!" the girl insisted. "She's in there."

He wanted to believe her, desperately wanted to believe her, but he doubted even Helen Cameron could be so cruel as to leave Beth inside to die when they burned the house. They had searched every room, including the servants' quarters in the attics. "We would have found her," he said.

"She's in there, Mr. James. I promise she's in there."

Jorie heard her and stalked over. "Where?"

The little maid sobbed and tried to get herself under control. "In the attic. You have to know where the door is to find it."

He met Jorie's eyes, saw the skepticism there, but then she shouted for Tavington, who was in mid-order, to stop. The Colonel looked beyond angry, but he halted, waited impatiently for Jorie to finish her explanation before he then demanded to know why they should believe a slave when they had found nothing. "Let us look," James heard her insist. "We'll take the maid. There'll be no more than a five minutes' delay."

The Camerons had been handed into their carriage, but Helen descended and marched over to Colonel Tavington. "The girl is addled by grief, Colonel. Her mistress is dead."

Tavington shot a look at Jorie and for the first time James wondered if the man knew the captain was actually a female. He dismissed that as fanciful thinking as the Colonel stayed the others. "Five minutes," he snapped and gestured toward the front door.

Beth's sister signaled James to follow, so he took Sukie's arm and said, "Show us."

He tried not to get his hopes up as they climbed the stairs to the top floor before they strode down the hallway to the servant's stairs at the end and ascended to the attic. Sukie raced along the narrow hallway to the attic's end and pushed against a piece of the molding above the wainscoting. A small door snicked open, and James and Jorie stared at one another.

The room was barely big enough for the small bed on which Beth lay, the narrow pallet beside it, and the stack of trunks nearby. There were no windows, and the hot, close air assaulted them. Sukie pushed around them and bent over her mistress. "It's Mr. James and your brother," she told Beth, and James turned and shot a look at Jorie.

She stepped inside while James remained outside. There wasn't enough room for all of them in the little room. Beth's eyes opened, but they closed quickly. She was undeniably ill, and James wondered if the explanation Helen had offered earlier was the source of that illness. It wasn't uncommon for women to fall ill after giving birth. He opened his mouth to ask Sukie about the child, but the girl was still next to her mistress and speaking softly to Beth's sister.

Jorie stepped back out of the room, so James could enter the tiny space. He had to duck in order to avoid the low ceiling. He moved closer to the narrow bed. Beth was so pale he could see the blue veins beneath her skin, and she was emaciated. The bones of her face pushed at her skin; the hand resting on her stomach seemed nothing more than skin-covered bones.

"They didn't want me feeding her. I snuck her what I could," Sukie said, and James sympathized even as he was murderously furious with the Camerons. He dearly wanted to go down and shoot Helen, certain the order to do this had come from her—though he would hardly put it past Honoria, who had taken an obvious dislike to her sister-in-law. He leaned down and laid his hand over Beth's forehead, snatched it back when he felt the heat.

"How long has she been this way?"

Sukie moved to the other side of the bed and looked across at him. He heard Jorie down the hall, yelling for someone to send up a couple of men. He presumed she had stuck her head out a window. "They locked her up here not long after Mr. Will left the last time."

"When was that?" he ground out.

Beth's maid shrugged. "A month?"

"Mrs. Cameron said she died in childbirth," he said carefully.

The maid shook her head. "Mrs. Will was never expecting." James started to question her further, but she forestalled him by insisting, "I'd have known."

Beth's sister returned with two enlisted men. "Start carrying the trunks out," she ordered. James looked at her, but she waited until they were gone with the first trunk. "Those are Anna-Elizabeth's. We'll take her things with us." He nodded, unwilling to call attention to what might be inside. Jorie sat gingerly on the bed. "Anna," she said firmly, and when her sister did not respond, she repeated it a little more loudly. When Beth opened her eyes, her sister told her, "We're taking you with us."

Her eyes fluttered closed, and James wondered if she even heard her sister. Jorie looked up at him and asked, "Can you bring her?"

James nodded. She stood from the bed. Sukie told her to wait a moment before she squeezed around James and left the room. The maid came back with a clean nightgown from somewhere and a clean quilt. When the men carried the last trunk out, the maid looked up at James and said, "Would you like to step outside a moment, Mr. James?"

He very nearly told her no, but he nodded and did so. After the maid and Jorie changed her nightgown, James stepped back in, lifted her to the quilt, and waited impatiently until Sukie tucked it around Beth. She weighed no more than a child, he thought, further horrified by the idea they had starved her so that she weighed little more than Princess Arianna likely did—quite possibly less, he thought as he pictured the sturdy little princess. Then he carried Beth down the stairs and out of that house.

The surgeon was waiting beside his wagon when they stepped off the steps onto the ground. "Here," the man said, and James saw they had made room for her inside. He climbed carefully in, laid her gently down, and the surgeon waved him back out. Jorie helped the maid inside.

Tavington walked his horse toward them. "Captains?" he asked mockingly. "Now that we've rescued a traitor's wife, might we get on with this business?"

Biting back the desire to tear into his commanding officer, James swallowed the words. It would do Beth no good for him to jeopardize his own career, and the words he'd given Tavington when they first met came back to haunt him. After all, Tavington saw Beth as a traitor since she was married to Will. James stopped, though. Those hadn't been the Colonel's words he realized, and he shot a look at Beth's sister, wondered if he had missed something.

As he watched, Jorie grabbed a torch from one of the men and flung it. James was tempted to follow suit, but he stood back, watched, surprised at the furious hatred he felt toward a family whom he had loved as much as he had his own while the men nearest the house finished setting the place aflame. He was tempted to watch every bit of it burn, but he climbed into the saddle when Tavington gave the order. He took the lead to Oak Point, led the rest of the Dragoons up the lane he had so often sent Beth down to return to Hart's Crossing.

When he arrived within sight of his own home, he found the Camerons had sought refuge there, and he spurred his horse ahead. Once, they would have been welcome, but no more. It was obvious they had only just arrived, and James looked at Helen stonily as he controlled his horse, wondered why she hadn't had the slaves take the shorter route he had so that they would already be established and it would be more difficult to evict them.

He was still the master of Oak Point, though, and he would still have turned them out.

"You are not welcome here," he ground out.

His mother, who had greeted her friend on their porch, was about to protest. He glared at her and bit out, "Wait." His horse danced a little, and when the Dragoons rode in, he gestured to the surgeon's wagon. When it stopped, he dismounted, handed his reigns to one of the stable boys, and strode to the rear, helped Sukie down and then waited for them to hand Beth out. He walked forward to his mother, and when she saw what he held, she turned to Micah and told him, "See the Camerons off our property."

In that moment, he was fiercely proud of his mother, who obviously understood his objection and wasn't, apparently, going to turn Beth away with her in-laws. James didn't wait to hear what protests they might make. He shouted for Bess, as he entered the house and made his way to the stairs. The other woman caught him halfway up the staircase. "That's Mrs. Will," she breathed.

"She's ill," he said, aware he stated the obvious. He issued orders for a bath and for her to be cared for. Then he gave Bess a stony look and bit out, "Beth is never again to be referred to as Mrs. Will."

He returned to his men, saw them billeted, and then presented himself to Tavington. The Colonel studied him curiously. "I take it you and Ramsdell's sister are acquainted."

James nodded curtly.

"As this is your home, Captain," Tavington said, "see to your family. With your permission, we will remain billeted here until the men and horses are thoroughly rested."

He gave another nod, and then Tavington dismissed him.

Katy met him at the door, and he hugged her tightly, glad for many reasons Will had not chosen her for his wife. His mother was there when he released his sister, and he let her kiss him and hold him tightly as well. He told her they would have to house the officers, and his mother nodded, turned and asked Micah to sort out the rooms before she turned back to James. "If I had known, James," she began, and he cut her off.

"I know, Mother."

By the time he had checked on his men and issued orders to feed the horses, he longed to change into something other than his uniform. When he returned to the house and entered his room, he found hot water and a boy. For a moment, he felt once more the loss of Lem. This boy was probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. "What's your name?"

"Caleb, Mr. James."

He nodded. "Micah's middle boy?"

The boy's face was split by a wide smile. "Yes, sir."

James shed his jacket, waistcoat and sweat-stained shirt. He sat and removed his boots and stockings and shed his trousers. He made use of the hot water and soap, then dressed in clean uniform trousers and a clean shirt. He left the heavy wool waistcoat and jacket off before he pulled on clean stockings and put his feet back in his boots. He felt better, though he would have preferred a bath to a quick wash. He asked Caleb to take the uniform downstairs to be cleaned, and then he returned to the blue guest room where he had taken Beth.

He didn't knock, simply opened the door and strode inside. He ignored Bess's sharp, "Mr. James!" and his mother's equally appalled squawk of protest. He was tired of pretending where Beth was concerned.

Sukie supported her mistress in the tub while Bess and his mother bathed her. As she had made no protest about his presence in her mistress's room, he addressed his question to her. "Other than the fever, what is wrong with her?"

She told him her mistress has been confined to that close, dark room, that she had fallen ill a week or two earlier, but Sukie wasn't sure what was wrong with her.

At that point, Bess told him, "Nothing some feeding up, sunshine, and good care shouldn't take care of."

Three maids entered with more water. His mother held up a sheet, and they lifted Beth and wrapped the sheet around her. "Make yourself useful, if you're going to insist on being here," his mother snapped, and he stepped forward and took Beth and the now-wet sheet before he moved back from the bath. His mother scolded him for dripping on the floor, but he ignored her since it had obviously been an automatic response. The maids emptied the dirty water and then refilled the tub. Bess waved him forward again, and they eased her in and washed her once more. James stayed, noticed how her skin clung to her bones. Her hair was so matted Bess and his mother finally decided to simply cut it off. James loved Beth's hair, and he was sorry to see the long, damp, red-gold locks fall on the discarded sheet that covered the floor.

They bathed her one more time, scrubbed her shorn hair before they were satisfied she was clean. James lifted her from the tub once more. His mother and Bess put her in a clean nightgown Sukie retrieved from one of her trunks. The little maid turned back the covers of the bed, and James placed Beth gently on the mattress before he stepped back and let them cover her. He started to take the chair beside the bed, but his mother said his name in a voice that made it clear he was about to be taken to the proverbial woodshed.

She led him to his study and closed the doors. "Anna-Elizabeth's husband is still alive, James," she began, but James stopped her. He definitely did not need the reminder.

"No husband should allow his wife to be treated so," he ground out.

"I know you believe you have feelings for her," his mother started, and he again stopped her.

"I don't believe it; I know it," he told her with a finality that made her suddenly look old. He stepped closer to her, moderated his voice. "I love her, Mother, have done so since the moment I met her. I will not let Will or his family have her back so they may finish killing her."

"The law—"

"Is wrong," he finished. "If we lived in another colony, Beth could divorce him. No woman should endure what she has in that household." His mother was pale, but she was about to protest, he could tell. "I remember, Mother, what you said that morning when we left Hart's Crossing the last time. God may not forgive me for Beth, but surely my sins are not as severe as those of Will and his mother."

His own mother, perhaps wisely, chose to say no more. After a moment, she stepped closer and wound her arms around his waist. "I am glad you are home safe," she said softly.

"Glad to be home," he said, and was shocked to hear his voice crack a little as he wrapped his own arms around her. His mother was thinner than he remembered, but, then, so was he. She buried her face in his shoulder a moment, and when she pushed away from him, she looked up into his face.

"Anna-Elizabeth may stay here," she said, and James heard no inflection in her voice. He knew his mother was a woman of her word, and he knew that by agreeing to take Beth in, she also agreed to protect her as she would Katy.

He kissed the top of her head, and breathed, "Thank you."

They returned upstairs where they found Jorie with her sister. Ramsdell stood when they entered, and James's eyes went to Beth, who looked tiny in the bed. She also looked older with the flesh gone, fragile, as if she would break if he touched her, cradled her cheek as he had done so many times before.

Jorie squeezed his forearm and muttered something about seeing to her men before leaving him with Beth. His mother started to say something, but when he turned to look at her, she stopped, left whatever she had intended to say unsaid and left him alone with Beth.

He sat on the side of the bed, took her tiny, thin, hand in his. For some reason, he thought she should be cold, perhaps because with the exception of the flush her fever lent her, she was so pale, but her skin was fire-hot. When he realized he held her left hand, he moved his fingers, stared at the ruby Will had placed on her finger when he married her. It was loose, so James easily slid it off, held it in his palm, and wondered what to do with it. His first instinct was to fling it out the window as far as he could. His second was to put it back, to return Will's shackle to her, but he couldn't do that. He dropped it on the table beside the bed.

James was still seated on the bed watching Beth sleep when Jorie returned. She resumed her seat in the chair, said nothing. Beth made a sound, rolled her head away from them, and James leaned over her, looked to see if perhaps she was about to wake. He heard a sound and turned toward Jorie, who had picked up the ring he had dropped on the table.

As James watched, she stuck it in the pocket of her waistcoat. "In my country, we would annul her marriage and probably take the Camerons' lands for this. We might or might not let them live."

Her voice was dispassionate. James met her eyes. "Not," he decided.

Jorie nodded. "That would be my preference," she agreed. Then her lips twisted, but it was no smile. "May I ask what your intentions are, Captain Wilkins?"

He felt his shoulders slump, and he ran a thumb over the knuckles of the hand he held. "To love your sister," he said quietly looking at the bony hand he held, "to marry her when she is free."

"And what if she is never free?"

Jorie's voice was soft, when she asked her question. He swallowed. "I will love her anyway," he said at last. It was true. If Beth would have him, he would do whatever he had to in order to live with her, love her. He met her sister's eyes. There was more he wanted to say, but the words didn't or wouldn't come. It didn't matter. He couldn't say them, couldn't make himself say them.

She seemed to understand, though, for she said, "Anna has land of her own, back home, in our country. She signed it over to me, but it is but a matter of a signature to return it to her. She could be free there." She stared thoughtfully at him. "She could be yours there."

Tempting though that was, he shook his head slowly, said what he had to Beth what seemed so long ago: "I cannot run away. This is my home, and I won't leave it."

Beth moved again, and James returned his attention to her, watched her move restlessly. She opened her eyes a moment, and he whispered her name. She blinked, but she slid back into unconsciousness.

When Beth's maid came in with a bowl of broth and told James and Jorie dinner waited them, James put Beth's hand back on the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead. She stirred, and then she settled deeper into sleep.

He ate mechanically, heard little of the conversation around him. His thoughts were upstairs with Beth. The meal was nearly finished before it finally dawned on him that neither his mother nor his sister were present at table. James signaled Micah, and the other man fetched brandy. He would prefer the rye in his office, but the brandy would do to dull his thoughts.

Tavington pulled him aside when the men left the table. "I shall grant you leave to see to your family and property. Your services are not needed until we are ready to move out."

James thanked him and adjourned to his study. The distant cousin he had hired to manage the plantation awaited him. For the next two hours, James reviewed the books and listened to the man report on the state of affairs for Oak Point. He had chosen well, he was pleased to note when the man had retired for the evening. He would ride out the following morning and see personally to a few things they had discussed.

No one was about when he emerged from his study. James made his way slowly up the stairs. He started to head for his own room, but at the head of the stairs he turned in the opposite direction and entered the blue room where Beth lay. It wasn't really blue, was painted white, but the curtains, bedcover, and rug were, hence the name. Sukie, the maid, looked up from where she mended in the chair next to Beth's bed. He waved a hand to stop her getting to her feet. He rested the back of a hand against Beth's cheek, felt the scorching heat of her skin.

"She woke long enough to eat some of the broth," the maid whispered.

He nodded, watched Beth sleep as he slid his thumb softly over her cheek. He could feel the hard edge of bone beneath her flesh, and he felt another sharp spike of anger toward the entire Cameron family. "Why?" he asked.

When he realized he had asked the question out loud, he turned to look at the maid. "After Mr. Will left," she told him, "Mr. Robert and Mrs. Robert argued about Mrs. Wi—" She stopped at his hard, angry look. "Miss Anna-Elizabeth," she corrected, obviously remembering he had said she was not to be referred to as Will's wife. "Then Mr. Robert died, and Mrs. Robert blamed Miz . . . Anna-Elizabeth." He caught the last-second change of name. "It started with locking her in her room. Mrs. Robert thought she could get Miss Anna-Elizabeth to give in to what she wanted."

James had a feeling this was going to take a while to explain. He eased onto the side of Beth's bed and faced Sukie. "What did she want?"

"The deed to the land Mr. Robert left her."

Beth couldn't have signed the land over—James, as her trustee, would have had to give his permission. Helen had to have known that. On the other hand, if Beth died, the land would pass to Will, and James had seen enough of the remaining Camerons to suspect they could be exactly that cruel in order to keep what they thought was theirs.

"Mr. James?" He focused on Sukie once more. "Mr. Will was furious when he realized Mr. Robert left her the land and appointed you her trustee. He . . . he broke her arm, her ribs, too. I thought he was going to kill her."

No, James, thought, _he_ was going to kill Will the next time he saw him. He could tell the maid was afraid of him, so he schooled his features. When she settled down a little, he asked, "Did they lock her in the attic before or after she healed?"

Sukie swallowed. "After." She set her mending down in her lap. "Her mother came to visit." He watched the girl still a shudder. Having met the Princess Audrianna himself, he could understand the reaction, but if her mother had prevented her further harm, he could set his disgust for her aside—for a while. "They told her mother she had been thrown from her horse, and Miss Anna-Elizabeth didn't say any different."

Beth made a sound, a soft moan, and he turned to her. She moved restlessly in the bed, and he took her hand once more. She settled then, and he kept hold of her hand. After a while, he told Sukie she could go on to her bed; he'd stay with Beth. The little maid was about to object, but he gave her a firm look and told her to leave them.

When she had gone, James sighed. It was all his fault. If he had exercised some control, if he had simply ignored his desire for his best friend's wife, she might have survived unscathed. He closed his eyes, weary. They might have simply killed her, too, and left no one the wiser.

After a while, he heard the last of the house's residents settle for the night. He considered lying down beside her, but he took the chair vacated by Sukie instead, though he moved it closer to Beth's bed before doing so. He reached out, took her hand, and settled in for the night.

His mother woke him the next morning by laying a light hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't be here, James," she said softly, but he heard no recrimination in her voice.

He rubbed his free hand over his eyes, over his face, and then realized he still held Beth's hand with the other. He leaned forward, laid it gently back beside her on her covers, and stood, stretched. He looked at his mother. "What time is it?"

She told him and started pushing him from the room. He found Caleb waiting in his own room for him, hot water and his shaving things laid out. James undressed, washed, shaved, and dressed once more before going down for breakfast. There were only a handful of officers around, and he ate with them before meeting his man to begin the rounds of his estate.

James had chosen to wear civilian clothes, and he had reason to be glad he had done so. They met a few people, some of whom seemed unaware James served in His Majesty's army. He gave orders to his distant cousin, listened as the man made further suggestions, and was glad to return home in mid-afternoon.

Beth's sister sat reading in the drawing room, but no one else seemed to be about. "Beth?" James asked quietly.

Jorie looked up from her book. "Sleeping. Your Bess seems to think the fever will break today. She woke long enough for them to feed her some broth." She held the book up, and James read Brown's name on the cover. "I hope you don't mind," she said with a grin, "but it's been a long time since I last read a good comedy."

James snorted.

"Go on up," Jorie suggested, "but I think your mother is worried about your reputation if you keep spending time with my sister."

"Will you call me out?" he asked with a grin.

Beth's sister returned a broad grin of her own. "Based on this," she held the book up once again, "I'm hardly a paragon of moral fortitude. On the other hand," Jorie drawled, "I'm afraid that were my sister not already married, your mother might force her to make an honest man of you at gunpoint."

James flashed her a grin and then headed upstairs. As he washed the dirt of the road off before he went to Beth's room, he thought his mother very well might. Looking at her as she sat quietly reading in the chair in which he had slept the night before, he thought his mother might forgive him. "She's still feverish."

Crossing to the bed, he did as he had done the day before, lay the back of his hand against her cheek. It was still hot, but he imagined it was less so than it had been.

"I think," his mother said quietly, "that Katy and I should close up house here when you and the rest of the soldiers leave. I thought we might leave a few servants to safeguard the house and return to Charles Town until the fighting is over."

He didn't protest, having thought much the same himself, though he knew the Rebels would want to retake Charles Town, which made it less than perfectly safe. It was still, most likely, safer than remaining isolated at Oak Point. "I believe that a wise choice," he agreed, his eyes on Beth. Her face was pale, her eyes still sunken. "I'm not sure Beth will yet be able to travel."

"I've given thought to that," his mother said. James met her gaze. He knew she was unhappy with this, knew she didn't like having responsibility for a woman who had betrayed her husband with James, but he also knew that now that she had accepted that responsibility, she would see that Beth was protected. "I think we can prepare her a bed on one of the carriage seats. Katy, Bess and I could ride with her, tend her. She's a tiny thing, and we could likely use pillows to prop her so that she could rest comfortably."

James looked down at Beth once more. "I'll need to find men to accompany you," he said. "It isn't safe, and it especially isn't safe with Beth along. If Will wants his wife back, he and the other rebels may accost you—not to mention thieves." He sighed, passed a hand over his hair. "I didn't think it through, Mother. I've likely bought us more trouble by bringing Beth here and refusing Helen Cameron and the others shelter."

It was as close to an apology as he was willing to come. He would never have left Beth with her in-laws, not this time, but he had asked more than he likely should when he asked his mother and sister to shelter her. The Camerons had been their friends, might still be so had he not driven a wedge between them because he could not leave Will's wife alone.

"James," his mother said softly, "I cannot countenance what you have done, what you and Anna-Elizabeth have done, but you were right. What Helen and her daughters did to her is far worse. You shall have to answer for your sins, and they for theirs." She stood then, gave him a measured stare. "As long as you are here, and because I assume you have no intention of leaving Anna-Elizabeth, you might as well sit with her. That little maid of hers comes to tend her regularly. I will say the girl is both competent and loyal to her mistress."

He was well aware that that was high praise coming from his mother. He bent and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you," he said, and he hoped she understood that he meant thanks for all of this, for not having disowned him, for not having turned Beth away, for not further condemning him for his transgression.

Instead of taking the chair, he sat on the side of Beth's bed. He was tired, and the discomfort of sleeping in a chair the night before had left him stiff as well. After a moment, he turned, stretched out beside her on top of her covers so that he could hold Beth to him.

-X-

"James?"

It was early morning, just before dawn, and Beth's whisper was husky next to his ear. He smiled then shifted, turned toward her and sought her mouth with his. Her hand was on his shoulder, and she pushed weakly at him. Her lips were dry, slightly chapped, and that made him remember.

He let her mouth go and met her eyes. His lifted his hand, placed it gently on her cheek and whispered, "You're at Oak Point, Beth."

"How?" she whispered back.

His thumb traced her lower lip, barely slipped over her flesh. "You owe your maid your life," he told her. "Colonel Tavington was in the middle of ordering Hart's Crossing burned when she rushed out and insisted we stop him."

"We?" she breathed.

"Your sister Jorie serves with us." He watched her eyes widen and a heated flush raced over her pale skin. He smiled softly at her. "She's in the house somewhere. I'll find her for you when you're ready."

"You know?" Beth said.

Unable to resist, James leaned in and touched his lips gently to hers. "She had no choice but to tell me." He smiled once more. "I've told no one, nor will I," he explained as he recognized her concern for her sister. "I owe your sister _my_ life many times over."

"What about the Camerons?" she asked.

He moved his arm over her waist and stroked her back. "I don't know," he admitted. "Mother refused them shelter, so I imagine they've gone elsewhere—the Hendersons, maybe, or perhaps Charles Town."

"Will?" she breathed.

James touched her cheek once more. "Presumably with Martin and his rebels still." He stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. "You aren't going back," he told her gently. "My mother has agreed to give you shelter. I won't allow you to return to him or to his family."

He caught a fat tear with his thumb.

"I have to, James, and you know it."

"No," he whispered, "you don't. They tried to kill you, Beth, to get what they wanted. As your trustee, I insist you accept my guardianship."

"I have a husband," she protested.

"With any luck," James told her tersely, "you're already a widow."

He pulled her closer, and Beth rested her cheek and her left hand on his shoulder. He pressed another kiss to her hairline. "I missed you," she whispered.

"And I you," he told her softly. He would like nothing better than to strip and slide under the covers with her and show her how much he had done so. Instead, he held her, pressed an occasional kiss to her shorn hair, her forehead, and once, when she looked up at him, her mouth. Her fever had broken, but she was still not well enough for him to do as he wished, even if they had had the privacy to allow him to do so.

She slipped away to sleep again while James continued to hold her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 15**

"Unhand my sister, you rogue," James heard someone growl as he startled awake. The sun was fully up this time, and he really should have been up and about far earlier so that he could avoid being caught, essentially, in bed with Beth. He wondered that someone—especially his mother—hadn't roused him before now.

He glared at Jorie, who simply stood at the foot of the bed and grinned at them.

"Go away," he growled back.

Beth stirred beside him. James let her roll onto her back when he heard her soft, "Jorie?"

Ramsdell walked to the other side of the bed from where James lay and sat, took her sister's hand when she rolled fully out of James's embrace. "You scared us, Anna."

Deciding it might be best to leave the two sisters alone to talk, James sat up and left the bed. Beth looked like she wanted him to stay, but he gave her a gentle smile and leaned down to press a soft kiss on her before leaving the room. He met his own sister in the hall. Katy blushed, and James knew she must have seen him with Beth. He closed Beth's door softly and crossed to his own sister. "Katy—" he began.

She flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Not at all certain how he could explain what she most probably had seen, he simply stood, his arms around his sister until she released him.

"Will you marry her?" she asked, searched James's face.

He could lie, he knew, but he was tired of doing so. Perhaps he had spent too much time with soldiers because instead of finding a gentler way to say how he felt, he gave a curt, blunt answer: "If Will dies." His sister flinched, probably as much at his words as his tone. He sighed, reminded himself she had once thought herself in love with Beth's husband. "Katy, she's married, and unless something happens to Will, she'll remain married to him."

"But you love her."

That wasn't a question, but he answered it nonetheless. "I do."

Not finished probing, Katy tilted her head and her eyes sharpened in a way that reminded him of their mother. "She's the one you said you'd met, the one you might consider marrying."

James felt his face heat, but this time he decided not to answer. He felt he'd incriminated himself enough for one morning. Katy obviously waited for a response, but instead of giving her one, he asked, "What time is it?"

That deflected his sister from further questions, and they descended the stairs to find breakfast. Bess and his mother had apparently decided to simply serve the officers a buffet breakfast. James eyed the food, selected what he wanted, and when Katy had done so as well, they joined several of his fellow officers at the table. Tavington wasn't there, so it was a more relaxed atmosphere than it might otherwise have been. While James had to admit the man could put on charm if he made an effort, the problem was that the Colonel rarely bothered, preferred to sneer at most of the Americans in his command.

One of the lieutenants was from Georgia, and he struck up a conversation about Oak Point with James, who was happy to have the distraction. As the man questioned him about the plantation's crops and labor, James kept a careful ear on Katy's conversation with another lieutenant from Camden. His sister made sure the man kept the conversation on general, acceptable topics, so James relaxed.

As he finished his food, James spied Micah in the doorway. His butler made a small beckoning gesture, so he excused himself and Katy, who had pushed her empty plate aside a few minutes earlier. They followed the butler to James's study where Micah bluntly said, "Mr. James, Mrs. Cameron done sent that Henderson boy and some of her people over to insist Mrs. Will be returned to them."

Grinding his teeth a moment, James sought enough control of his temper to not snap at the man. Micah was merely delivering a message, he reminded himself, and it was hardly his fault if it wasn't one James wanted to hear. "Never call her Mrs. Will again, Micah," he said, addressed the one part of the man's comment he could and tried to moderate his tone enough so that it didn't cut even as he made his wishes on the matter clear. He turned to his sister. "Get Mother, Katy." He might need Temperance Wilkins—not to mention the virtue for which she was named.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Tobias Henderson with Jonah, though he really had thought one of the older, far more intimidating Hendersons would have been dispatched to deal with him. Nor was he surprised to see two other slaves he presumed belonged to Helen Cameron. That likely meant that Helen and her daughters had taken refuge with the Hendersons, just as he had suspected they might, and he wondered if the youngest Henderson had brought the slaves because he expected trouble from James.

"Toby," he acknowledged, as Micah showed the younger man inside James's study. Micah, followed by two of the slaves, exited and then closed the door behind him, but James noticed Jonah, at least, remained behind. He supposed the man had his orders, and it might be best not to antagonize Helen Cameron further by excluding him. If nothing else, Jonah could confirm whatever Toby went back and said to Helen.

"James," the younger man acknowledged with a nod.

It helped that young Toby looked embarrassed, but not a lot. "What brings you to Oak Point?" James waved him at a chair, though he had only asked what he did to get to the point rather than to observe the social niceties—even though he knew he would need to do that as well.

Once they were seated, James waited.

"Helen Cameron is worried about her daughter-in-law's welfare." Toby's blush deepened, though James didn't respond. He was absolutely certain that Helen was worried about Beth's welfare—or at least about the fact she was still alive, anyway. Most likely she was worried about what, if anything, Beth might have told the Wilkinses. "She said the Dragoons took her hostage."

James sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. He measured the boy's words and considered what might happen if James had to defend himself. Like the rest of the Hendersons, Toby was a big man, but unlike his hulking brothers, he was only about James's size. He knew Toby had been babied, and he knew that if it came to it, he could win a fight with the boy. Unlike his older brothers, the younger man wasn't much of a brawler, though, so he hoped it wouldn't come to that. He weighed his words a moment. "Her brother and I brought her here after Helen intended to leave her to die."

Reminding himself to take care—because for a split-second, he had been about to call Jorie Beth's sister—he waited for Toby's protest.

To James's surprise, it didn't come, so he shot a look at Jonah, who stood to the side of the door behind Toby and looked upset. The man was the Cameron butler, and James was certain he knew exactly what had been done to Beth.

"Helen admits Will's wife has been ill," Toby began, and James lost what little control he had on his temper.

"Did she also tell you that in order to cause that illness she starved Anna-Elizabeth? Did she tell you she locked her in a hidden attic room?" he demanded.

Toby went white. "Those are serious accusations."

"They aren't accusations, Toby. They're facts." James paused a moment, drew a brief breath, and then continued a little more calmly. "Robert Cameron made me his daughter-in-law's trustee when he decided to leave Anna-Elizabeth some property of her own. After his death, Helen tried to get her to sign it over, and when she wouldn't, Helen tried to starve her into doing so. As a result, I've decided to place Anna-Elizabeth under my protection."

"I've no quarrel with you," Toby said after turning to study Jonah's now impassive face for several moments, though for a moment it had been easy to read the truth of what James said, such as it was, in the slave's face. "I want no quarrel with you, James," Toby continued, "but Honoria claims that—"

"Claims what, Tobias?" James's mother asked with a snap as she joined them. "We all know that Honoria Cameron rarely speaks truth."

Coming awkwardly to his feet, Toby went crimson at that particular reprimand. "Good morning, Mrs. Wilkins."

As James watched, Toby shifted uncomfortably, but Temperance Wilkins did no more than give the man a hard stare and a tight nod.

James decided to end the standoff. "You may tell Helen that Anna-Elizabeth is safe and being cared for," he told Toby and Jonah. "If she chooses to return to the Camerons once she is well enough to do so, we'll see that she does. Until then, tell Helen to leave her be."

"She should be with family," Toby tried.

Unwilling to raise suspicions the man might not already have, James bit back a sigh and tried to formulate an answer. His mother had one ready, though. "She is with family, Tobias," she said tartly. "Anna-Elizabeth's brother is with her as we speak. You are welcome to see for yourself if you so choose."

The boy blanched, and James wondered if Jorie's reputation had filtered outside the Dragoons.

"Now," James's mother added crisply, "give my regards to Helen, Jonah, and, Tobias, tell your mother our thoughts are with her." With that, she nodded to Jonah, who opened the study door and was rewarded with another nod when she sailed through.

As James was about to usher his unwanted guests after her, Toby coughed. He turned his attention back to the youngest Henderson and quirked a brow. Jonah, he noticed, left them alone, closed the door softly behind him as he joined his fellows outside. "I hope your sister Katherine is well, James."

He eyed the boy, measured his expression, and saw nothing but honest regard in his brown eyes. "Katy's fine," he grudgingly admitted. The boy looked relieved, and James wondered what he would do if the younger man were brash enough to ask for Katy's hand, now, of all times.

"Please give her my best regards," Toby said solemnly.

James folded his arms over his chest again and leaned back against his desk's top, studied Toby as though he were a weevil infesting his cotton. The boy crimsoned again, and James marveled that he was apparently perfectly serious in his regard for Katy. He had snidely thought the boy would ask for her hand at the beginning of this conversation, but now he truly feared Toby very well might.

As he tried to sort through how he felt about that, he watched Toby straighten his spine. "I'm not like my brothers, James. While I'm not going to inherit the plantation or much of the money, I have ambitions, and I plan to make good on them. Your sister is a fine woman, an intelligent one, and after the war, after I've secured a future, I hope you'll give me a chance to prove that while I am a Henderson, I'm not like them."

It would have been easy to make a cutting remark, and it would have been equally easy to dismiss him. His family was on the other side of this conflict and were generally known as louts, but James read nothing but absolute sincerity on the boy's face. Toby had always stood in the shadows of the others, had always seemed softer than his brothers, but given how the other Henderson sons had always behaved as though they lacked any knowledge of the basic rules of decent behavior, James had simply overlooked the possibility that the youngest could be any different. Katy liked the boy, so James tempered his instinct to tell him _Hell, no,_ and dismiss him.

"It will be Katy's decision," he admitted gruffly, "but you'll not court her until you've delivered on those ambitions."

Toby flashed a smile and extended his hand. If that boy dared call him sir, he decided, James was going to flatten him. He stood, took the proffered hand, let Toby pump his a little too enthusiastically and sent him on his way after listening to his earnest thanks.

Why he was surprised Katy had obviously been listening on the other side of the door, James wasn't sure, but she knocked him a step back when she flung herself at him and tried to squeeze the life out of him. He took that as Katy's intent to say yes to the boy, and that was something he would have to carefully consider. He wondered if there was any way to forbid Toby from associating with the rest of the Henderson family if Katy married him.

Katy's smile was bright when she released him, and James realized he'd have to resign himself to having a Henderson for a brother-in-law. "He wants to go into trade, James," she admitted in a rush. "I know it isn't really done, so I thought I might be able to persuade him to consider the law."

He suspected she might, and he further suspected Toby might be good at it. The boy was reputedly a good scholar, unlike his brutish brothers, and the law was a respectable occupation, one that might keep Katy in comfort. If she couldn't persuade the boy, perhaps James might help him, might invest in a business venture if Toby could present a sound plan with acceptable risks.

But he said nothing of that to his sister, simply told her they would see. After all, there was a war to get through, and they'd have to survive that before they could see what might be. He also didn't remind her of what she had said after the night she heard Will beat Beth. That thought gave him a whole new set of worries, mainly because he found it hard to believe that Toby would truly turn out to be all that different from the other men in his family.

It was late evening before James saw Beth again. He stopped by her room where he found her propped against a pile of pillows reading. He discovered, when he tilted his head to read the title of the book she held, that Jorie had apparently passed Brown's book to her sister. She blushed, and he bent and gave her a lingering kiss, softly asked how she was.

"Better," she whispered. Her eyes were troubled as he sat on the bed, his hip against hers. He leaned, put his palm on the mattress next to the hip furthest from him and then lifted his free hand to trace the line of her gaunt cheek and then her jaw.

"You look better," he told her. He wasn't about to tell her she simply looked what she was—ill. That was temporary, he reminded himself, more troubled by her shorn hair, which was also temporary but would take longer to return to what it had been. Someone, the maid most likely, had tried to make it look less like someone had taken gardening shears to it, and he smiled a little as he realized it curled slightly, wondered, given his own hair curled, what kind of hair their children might have.

That thought sobered him, reminded him of what Helen Cameron had claimed when Jorie asked after her sister, and he studied Beth's pale face. He fingered one lock and told her sincerely, "It suits you." It did, showed the delicate lines of her face, made her eyes more noticeable, and exposed a pair of well-shaped ears.

She blushed again, and he was charmed. "James—"

He stopped her with a kiss. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it yet, wasn't sure he wanted to upset her by discussing it. In fact, he didn't want to have any kind of potentially troubling discussion at the moment. "Tobias Henderson wants to marry Katy," he told her quietly.

Beth's eyes shot wide.

"I think Katy wants to marry him," he admitted ruefully.

Her voice was weak when she told him, "Toby will do well at whatever he chooses. He's intelligent, and he's kind."

For whatever reason, James found it easy to forget that she had likely socialized with the Hendersons. He knew Will and Michael were friends, and he knew that the three older brothers fought with Will in the same militia association.

It was then that James realized they were back to what he didn't want to discuss. During all their stolen afternoons, they had rarely discussed Beth's marriage or anything about her life with the Camerons. It had been the only way they could keep the peace between them, the only way they wouldn't argue about her leaving Will. Now, though, they would have to talk about it, if for no other reason than the Wilkinses would not be able to hold her against her will if she chose to return to her husband's family—or to leave the Colonies, for that matter—no matter how much James might want to.

Jorie could send her home, he knew, or Beth could simply choose to leave when she was stronger. It wouldn't be prudent or especially safe, but he was learning the du Mare women were a strong-minded lot.

For now, though, he seized on what she said about Toby Henderson. He asked, "Are you saying he'd make Katy a good husband?"

She nodded. "He wants to escape his family, has planned it for some time." Beth drew a deep breath, released it slowly. "I know how he feels."

Wondering if it was simply that she identified with him or if it was that she truly liked the boy, James discovered he really didn't like that second option. He wondered just how much she liked young Toby, how close she might have become to him to know what the boy wanted. "Helen Cameron sent him to fetch you."

The color drained from Beth's face. "Fetch me?"

He told her, told her what Toby had come to ask, though he didn't tell her as bluntly as his anger over her apparent closeness to the youngest Henderson made him wish to. In the wake of his explanation, he watched fear invade her face, James moved his hands, lifted her from her pillows and pulled her close before he informed her, "I will not let you go back, Beth. I will not let them finish what they started. Robert made me your trustee, and that obligates me to see to your welfare." Her expression shuttered, and James replayed that in his head, realized how she might likely interpret that. "Even were that not true," he added, attempted to salvage himself, "I would not let them because I love you, Beth, and I will not allow them to harm you again."

When she buried her face in his chest, he dropped his head, buried his own face in the soft curls clinging to her skull.

It was muffled, but it was loud enough for him to hear: "I love you, too."

Folding her closer, he kissed the crown of her head, smiled against her red-gold hair. "My mother has agreed to take you in," he told her, relaxed his grip when she pushed against him. Her eyes met his. "She and Katy plan to return to Charles Town, close the house here, and you are to go with them."

"Do I get a choice?" she asked.

He could see a brief flash of temper in her green eyes. "As long as that choice is not to return to the Camerons, then, yes."

The flash caught fire. "You are not my husband, James, and I am not a child."

His jaw tightened. "Then don't act like one."

"I've had more than enough of people telling me what to do," she snapped, though that snap sounded a little tired around the edges, and she pushed at him again. In her weakened state, it was ineffective, but James let her put a bit more room between them.

As he recalled what happened the last time they quarreled, he decided not to push her into willfully doing what would most harm her. That didn't mean he asked gently when he posed, "And if I asked instead of told?"

Beth's eyes flared again, then the fire dampened, left her looking exhausted. "I would consider it."

He caught her close again and kissed her, wondered if he could persuade her that way. When the kiss ended, he asked softly, "Beth, would you please stay with my mother and Katy?"

She sighed weakly. "I don't wish to cause them danger—or harm."

"I dare you to tell my mother that," he told her with a wry smile. James knew his mother well, knew she would prove exactly how stubborn she could be if Beth were to suggest to his mother what she had just told him.

"Why do I have a feeling that would only result in yet another Wilkins believing I can be commanded?"

James gave her a quick grin, then kissed her again. "I'm far easier to deal with than she," he promised.

"I wish I felt more like dealing with you," Beth returned, and James heard tiredness in her voice.

Picking Brown's book up from where she had laid it on the mattress, James set it on the table beside the bed. "You need to rest."

She shook her head at him. "You're trying to command me again," she chided.

He removed a couple of her pillows, set them beside the ones he left, and eased her back so she lay prone. "When you're better, Your Highness," he promised, "I'll let you command me all you wish."

Beth made a face at his honorific, but her hand reached to cup his cheek. "You really should be more careful what you promise."

Leaning down so that he lay partially over her, he rested his weight on his elbows and slid his hands beneath her. "I'll do whatever you ask, Beth, so long as you do as I wish."

"Ah," she whispered, and ran her hands over his shoulders. "You want to extort me rather than accede to my rank."

James smiled at her. "_Extort_ is such an ugly word." He kissed her. "Shall we say, _persuade_?"

Her expression turned serious. "I want nothing from you but that you not smother me."

Lifting his head, James frowned, studied her.

"Please don't make my decisions for me, James," she said. "I've had more than enough of that since I came to America. I had more than enough of that before I left home." She lifted her hand, and her finger traced his jaw. "I need to breathe, James. I need to just feel safe for a while. Then we will see."

Questions swirled as he remembered Jorie's story of Beth's constricted choices before she married Will, and he wondered for the first time if she feared him. As he continued to watch her, he didn't think she did, but remembering the mask she often wore in public, he recalled she was more than capable of concealing what she thought or felt. "All right."

Because he was so close to her, he felt her body relax, noticed her breathing eased a bit. He started to push off her, but her hands tightened on his shoulders. "I will remain with your family for now," she told him, "but that is only because my options are limited. I do not wish to impose on them, nor do I wish to do them damage."

Before he could ask what she meant by that, she shook her head, and he realized that Helen and Honoria Cameron—Will, too—would see that everyone in the parish and in Charles Town knew Temperance Wilkins sheltered the woman who had allowed James to cuckold Will.

"Beth," he began.

"We'll see what comes, James," she sighed, "but for now, I am tired."

He started to move, to lift off her and leave her to sleep, but she wound her arms around him.

"Stay a while longer," she pleaded softly.

Lifting a brow, he asked, "Who's commanding whom now?"

"I was asking," she assured him.

He rolled, stretched out beside her and pulled her close. Beth rested her head on his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss against her hair. "Beth?"

"There's time to talk later."

Turning more fully toward her, he raised her face to his. "I don't think I shall be here much longer, Beth, and there's always the possibility I won't see you again after I leave."

Wishing it unsaid, he stared at her as tears gathered. He shouldn't have said a word, should have simply done as she asked and dropped the subject.

"I know that you could be killed, James," she told him, "but I can't bear the thought. I wish you had simply gone to Charles Town, had shut yourself up here, instead of joining the Dragoons."

"Now you know how I felt when you left each time to return to Will." He had, he thought, had worried that each time would be the one when Will wouldn't simply give her bruises, that it would finally be the time he'd kill her. From what her maid said Will had done when he learned about the land Robert had left Beth, it sounded as though he begun to increase how badly he hurt her. After all, Will and his mother got what they wanted if Beth died, James thought, and that made him want to go hunt the bastard down, break a few bones himself before he killed Will.

He felt Beth's lips against his jaw, and he submitted a moment before moving to capture her mouth with his. Since they had begun this, he intended to finish it. He ended the kiss, put his hand on her cheek so she couldn't turn away. "Jorie told me what happened, Beth."

For a moment, she was visibly confused, but then her face cleared. "St. Cecilia's," she whispered, and there was a hint of horror there.

He nodded. "You could have told me."

She sighed; her eyes closed. "Everyone who knows looks at me differently, treats me differently."

"I know there's no reason to do so," he told her, and her eyes opened, searched his. He kept his expression bland. "Is that why you let Will do what he did?"

Beth shook her head. "No, James," she said softly. "I didn't fight because it was quickly obvious no one would help me, and if I let him do as he wished, didn't fight, he grew tired of it faster." The logic of that escaped James, and he was about to say so when she added, "He enjoys the violence, but only so long as I am suitably frightened. It's as though it took the fun out of it if I didn't react."

Her response failed to clarify matters for him, but he turned it over in his head. "So Will only likes to hurt you if he can see that it causes you pain."

"Something like that." She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. "He's a bully, James, at least when it comes to women, and he only likes it when we cry or fight back." Beth sighed. "Jorie says I should have simply shot him."

"You'd have hanged," James burst out, momentarily horrified she might actually consider doing it. Somehow, he suspected that she might well know how to use a pistol.

"Then perhaps Arie, who has always had more charm than I, ought to do the honors," she suggested with a slight smile. "I suspect that child could convince even a jury of hardened men that Will simply needed killing."

It wasn't amusing, and James didn't smile or laugh it off. Beth's face sobered.

"Don't make such jests, Beth, especially where someone might overhear," he warned softly. "If something were to happen to Will, it would be best if there were no grounds for suspicions."

Her face blanched. "Do honestly think I'd murder my husband?" 

While he would have preferred her to use Will's name rather than the word that expressed his relationship to her, James acknowledged that he had a hard time thinking she would. On the other hand, as his mother had pointed out, her younger sister was certainly a bloodthirsty child, and he'd seen how lethal her older sister was. "No," he answered honestly, and he watched horror dawn.

"But you might."

Her voice was a little breathless, and James felt a cold satisfaction settle in his chest at the idea. He owed Will, owed him for the harm he'd done Beth and for the harm he'd done to James. Then, there was Katy and the now-repaired damage to Oak Point, so he answered with complete honesty: "If the opportunity presented itself."

Beth began to push at him, and he watched as her panic welled. He caught her hands and leaned over her. "I swear, Beth, that if he touches you again, if he beats you once more, I will return that pain a hundredfold." He would, too, but even so, he didn't think he could in cold blood kill Will Cameron. "However," he acknowledged, "if I'm very fortunate, I'll meet him on the battlefield. If not, then I see no reason not to challenge him."

His meaning was obviously not lost on her. "You would duel?"

"And win," he assured her.

"Don't, James," she demanded with a breathless urgency. "Many a man has thought he'd prevail only to find his opponent managed to kill him instead through a freakish stroke of luck."

Part of him took offense at her lack of faith, but part of him knew what she said was true. Perhaps he could provoke Will, could accept the challenge and have a clear conscience. In truth, he suspected Will would find a way to avoid issuing or accepting any challenge, so it was unlikely James would find satisfaction that way.

In battle, though, there was a completely different opportunity. Based on rumor and the man's tactics, James knew the Ghost had to be Benjamin Martin. He also knew that Will was one of his men. Tavington was intent on hunting the Ghost down, and that meant James had a golden opportunity to kill Will in a circumstance that would draw few if any questions if he came face-to-face with his old friend on one of the Colonel's hunting parties. It wasn't as if neighbors weren't taking the chance that fighting on opposite sides afforded them to settle very personal scores, and Beth was a very personal wrong James itched to right.

Looking at her, though, he was wise enough not to say so. He considered kissing her again, but she stifled a yawn.

"You're tired," he observed, and started to move away.

Her fingers clenched in his shirt, held him where he was. "Promise me, James," she said softly. "Promise me that if you do kill Will, you will do so under honorable circumstances. Promise me that you will not do so unless it's your life or his."

About to deflect her, he realized it truly troubled her that he might actually orchestrate Will's murder. Even though he had been thinking that very thing, he could easily see she was genuinely distressed by the idea, and he asked the first thing that occurred to him. "Do you love him after all, Beth?"

He had never actually asked her that, and though Jorie had maintained Beth didn't, her concern for Will's welfare made him wonder.

She shook her head, did so more violently as he measured her reaction. "No, James, but I do love you. I don't want you to do something for which you might not be able to forgive yourself."

James thought he might easily be able to forgive himself, but as he continued to study her troubled expression, he wondered. It had become increasingly difficult for him to remember the days when he and Will had been the best of friends, had shared dreams and aspirations, and had believed they would always do so. He found, to his surprise, he missed that. In addition, he realized he didn't want to lose Beth's regard, didn't want her to ever question his motives if he did have to kill Will. He sighed.

"I promise, Beth."

She relaxed, and he kissed her once more. "You look tired," he said softly, reluctant to take his leave though it was obvious she needed rest.

"Stay," she asked again.

"For a while," he agreed.

-X-

It wasn't Jorie who woke them the following morning but Bess. "Mr. James," she said, and he recognized the tone that made it clear when he was a child that she was well aware of his most recent misdeeds and was about to take him to task for them. All she said, though, was, "You get on up from there and get downstairs for your breakfast."

Not for the first time, James wondered which one of them was actually master in his household. He shifted beside Beth, rubbed a hand over his face and rolled to leave the bed.

"Miss Anna-Lizbeth," she continued, "you best be telling that boy to quit pestering you at night before his mama decides he isn't too old or too big for a hiding."

Beth laughed, and James frowned at her. She laughed harder when she caught his expression.

"Go on with you," Bess ordered him before he could respond, and Beth bit her lip to keep from laughing again.

He watched his housekeeper set a tray on a nearby table. James chose to give in.

Once more Caleb waited for him, and when James joined the men downstairs for breakfast, he found Tavington and Jorie both there. Taking a seat next to Beth's sister, he nodded to his commander. The Colonel told him, "We'll leave this afternoon. Ramsdell tells me your family intends to relocate to Charles Town."

James nodded.

"I'm sending men for supplies," his commander continued. "They will escort them."


	16. Chapter 16

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 16**

As he prepared to leave, James couldn't help feeling it might be the last time he saw his home. Oak Point had been in his family for the better part of a century, in one form or another, and he didn't like the idea that it might have seen its last members of the Wilkins family in residence. Once his mother and Katy quitted the place, it was unlikely it would remain unmolested, and James knew that well enough. After all, it wasn't just Tavington who burned the homes of those loyal to the other side.

Even if the rebels didn't burn it, it was entirely possible one of them or one of their friends would wind up in possession of it, even if only for the duration of the war. Several planters had seen their homes seized by those who supported the opposite side, sometimes for use as a base of operations and sometimes as spoils of war.

As he pushed the last of his uniform buttons through its hole, he looked around his room. It was the master bedroom, which his mother had vacated when his father died. James had always thought he'd share it with a wife, but that was a far more remote possibility now than it had previously been. Unless Will died, he'd never be able to bring Beth here, and even then, depending on what the Cameron family chose to whisper about them and into which ears, it would be difficult to live here with her.

He wanted to not care, but the reality was that he did.

However, he could not imagine marrying any other bride than Beth.

If they were very fortunate, the King's men would prevail, and what the Camerons might have to say would no longer matter.

As he left his room, he noticed Beth's door was open. He shook his head, chagrinned that he'd come to think of the guest room on that floor as hers. When he looked inside, she was dressed, sat in the chair near her bed. She looked exhausted, and James worried whether she was up to the drive to Charles Town.

Beth gave him a wan smile when he stepped inside. Her maid sighed and shook her head at him before she put the last of her mistress's belongings in the open trunk.

"That uniform makes me think of Christmas," Beth told him.

He made a rueful face, wished the Green Dragoons wore the green jackets and buff breeches of the British Legion instead of what they did. At least the Dragoons' black breeches didn't show blood, he thought grimly as he crossed to her. "Assuming you are a very good girl, what might you like as a gift?"

Her face sobered, but she didn't hesitate with her answer: "You. Safe and alive."

His fingertips traced her cheek. James had heard many say that the war would be over by Christmas, but he had his doubts. He suspected, based on the news from the back country, that too many people had too many personal scores to settle and would continue to do so under the pretext of war. He suspected those feuds would continue to fuel the various fires until they had done so and that those particular tallies of slights would linger long after the war had been successfully prosecuted—whichever side won. James didn't say that, chose instead to simply offer, "I'll do my best."

Before Beth could reply, a couple of the slaves appeared, and Sukie closed the trunk she had just finished packing and supervised its removal. When they were gone, the maid trailing behind them, James bent and caught Beth's lips. He wasn't at all sure when he'd see her again, so he took advantage of that bit of privacy to say goodbye.

Her eyes met his when the kiss ended. "Do more than your best," she whispered.

As he was about to tell her his best was pretty damn good, her sister stepped in. "Time to go, Anna," Jorie said.

James watched as Beth's sister helped her to her feet. They began to move slowly toward the door, but within a couple of steps, it was obvious Beth would never be able to walk the rest of the way across the room, into the landing, down the stairs and out of the house to the waiting carriage. Since it gave him the opportunity to accompany her and, better, to touch her, James said, "Wait," and then scooped her up to carry her.

Beth looked startled, but James just grinned at her. "You're just a little bit of woman, Beth."

Her lips twitched just before she gave him a mock-glare. "Not all of us can be overgrown," she sniffed.

He whispered in her ear so that Jorie wouldn't hear, "You like certain overgrown parts of me."

If it hadn't been for the smile that quickly overrode it, she might have managed the quelling look she tried to give him. When it failed, she simply put her arms around his neck and stretched to whisper in his own ear, "I saw a manuscript once, written in Sanskrit. According to the inventory of the royal archive, it was a religious book, but I don't know Sanskrit and couldn't read it. It had beautifully illustrated drawings of couples engaged in rather stimulating acts along its margins. When next I see you, perhaps I could describe them to you, and you could put that overgrown body of yours to use seeing if they are at all possible or if the Hindu were simply very imaginative."

James had to pause a moment at the top of the stairs since he could easily imagine what kinds of stimulating acts might have been portrayed and thought it might be enjoyable to let her use him to test their possibilities. Jorie, partway down the first flight frowned back at him. "This education of yours," he asked Beth as he began descending the stairs with her cradled to his chest.

She smiled broadly. "That was not part of the approved curriculum but rather something I found tucked away and forgotten. The notes attached to it described the contents." She waited until James was at the landing midway down to add softly, "Hopefully, the next time we meet, I shall feel up to some physical exertion." Her eyes met his. "Purely in the interests of furthering my inquiries into Vātsyāyana's philosophy in regards to the erotic sciences, of course."

"I'm certainly interested in philosophy and the," he eyed Jorie as he stepped off the stairs, "sciences."

Jorie's brows lifted, and Beth giggled. "I shall hold you to that, then," she said and dropped her voice to a whisper to add, "and I certainly expect a religious experience."

That, he decided, it was best he ignored before he simply turned around and carried her back to his own room, locked the door, and asked her to make a request. He carried her to the carriage beside which his mother and Katy waited. Micah opened the door, and James set her inside. "Be safe, James," she told him.

Despite the fact that there were several witnesses, he pressed a quick kiss on her lips and stepped back to hand his mother and sister in after her, both of whom crushed him and gave him similar charges.

He watched the carriage drive away and hoped they would all be safe.

-X-

Camden proved to be the first major battle the Dragoons were involved in since James joined them. Colonel Tavington had a reputation for impulsiveness, for not waiting for orders, but this time he held his light cavalry until the order to charge was issued. That may have been because it wasn't hard to see the King's army would win the day.

The things James saw were likely to give him nightmares for years to come. He came to realize there was a difference between the skirmishes they'd mostly fought against relatively small units of mostly militia and a full-scale battle. In those skirmishes, they shot at one another, hacked at one another, and while many might be wounded, relatively few deaths resulted. It had never ceased to amaze him.

This, though, was carnage. Seeing men shot down was one thing; seeing heads and limbs removed by cannon shot was entirely different. It seemed, somehow, more savage than having a man disemboweled or even decapitated by a saber. James wasn't sure whether that was because it wasn't done by another man up close, was instead done by a machine some distance away, but it hardly seemed sporting.

Not that war was sport, he realized, though many men talked about it as though it was. It was bloody, smelly, and terrifying, and James, looking at Tavington and some of the others who seemed to thrive on it, decided that if he ever got to the point he enjoyed it or lost the horror, then it would be time to pack it in, loyalty or no.

There was no glory in the savagery and the slaughter, and if there was honor to be had, then it was likely found in doing his job as humanely as possible.

Jorie found him in the quiet spot he'd taken up on the edge of camp that evening, sat down next to him and handed him a plate of food. James didn't think he could eat it, but he took it, muttered a thanks.

"It does get easier," she said.

"I'm not sure it should."

"Probably not," she admitted and handed him a mug of ale.

He took a swallow of the ale. "I'm a planter, not a butcher," he muttered.

"At the moment, you're a soldier, James, and that? That's what soldiers do." It was firmly and matter-of-factly said. He looked sideways at her, noticed she wasn't put off the food by the day's work, so to speak. "You should eat and then get some sleep," she advised, "because we're going back on the hunt in the morning."

For some reason her apparent lack of empathy angered him. "Those were men," he said, "and now they're in pieces, dead, or dying. How can you just sit there and eat?"

Her eyes met his, the gray of hers annoyingly calm. "Because I'm alive, James, and nothing can change what happened to those men, some of whom died because of what we did. You can't do this job well and carry that kind of guilt."

If that was making the subtle point that he had chosen this job, as she termed it, it wasn't helping. He knew death was part of it, knew from stories he'd heard older men tell about previous wars that maiming was also part of it, but he somehow hadn't expected the kinds of things he'd witnessed that afternoon. He lifted the mug again, swallowed. She continued to eat, and James looked down at his own plate. At that particular moment, he couldn't have eaten it if his life depended on it.

"It was us or them, James," she said softly. "Would you rather be the one lying out there waiting for someone to strip your body of what's useful and then bury you—if you're lucky?"

The easy answer to that was no, but he said nothing, stared unseeing before him and wondered how she could be so blasé about that particular day's work. For the first time, he wished he'd continued to simply keep his head down, work his land, and hope to survive the war with what he had mostly intact.

Jorie sighed, and he heard her fork scrape the plate. It set his teeth on edge. "Anna would never forgive you for getting yourself killed."

And that was a very low blow, he decided.

"It's ugly," Jorie added, "but war is what it is. You'd think it would make men step back, think more than twice about what they are doing when they decide to go to war, but it doesn't—perhaps because the people who generally make the decision to commit men to battle rarely witness the reality of war or remain mounted behind the men who die for them. They believe in nonsense like honor, glory, and justice, but those of us who enact their decisions know it's really about animal survival. It's us or the men opposite us, and in the heat of battle, politics and loyalty don't mean a good goddamn when you're too busy trying to save your own life to remember why it's at risk in the first place."

There had been no bitterness there, though there easily could have been. Her voice remained steady, as though she were engaged in a discussion of something as normal as speculation on the year's crops. He met her gaze again, considered her words. It was true that in the heat of riding in, saber swinging as he fought off those who wanted to kill him, he'd had little time for thought and had reacted solely on instinct.

"Now eat. Melancholy and regret won't keep you moving forward, and continuing to move forward is your only choice, James, especially if you're going to survive long enough to marry my sister."

The last was accompanied by a needling grin, and James picked up the fork on the plate resting in his lap. He couldn't say what he ate, stew of some sort, but he ate it. It seemed to be the only way to get Jorie to shut up, especially since James now felt uncomfortable about his maidenish reaction to his first real battle.

"It's an idiotic way to fight," he said quietly, once he'd finished what he could of the food, "lining up and letting the other side shoot you down while you take your turn, not to mention the savagery with the bayonets." It was the way it was done, he knew it, but after seeing it in person, he couldn't help thinking it was a stupid way in which to do things.

"That's why we're cavalry," Jorie said with another grin. "Moving targets are harder to hit."

-X-

They managed to get a bit of a break from fighting. Cornwallis had apparently taken up residence at Middleton Place. Arthur Middleton, the current owner, was a rebel, so the house had been considered fair game. James told Jorie it had probably been chosen for its location and size. It was only fifteen miles from Charles Town, and the original brick house had had two wings added to it that greatly expanded the quarters and amenities. James, though, was dismayed to see the house had already been looted, and he was furious that the soldiers had, apparently, ridden around the gardens decapitating the statues.

Despite the fact that Middleton was a traitor, that was no reason to willfully destroy the kind of beauty the man's family had managed to collect. James felt certain the house would be further damaged when Cornwallis and his officers moved on, and that, too, angered him.

Now he stood in the garden next to Tavington, talked to a couple of pretty young women who probably had less than a teaspoon of brains between the two of them. The gardens were renowned, and they were certainly lovely with their rolling vista to the Ashley River. As he listened to Miss Williams chatter about all the handsome officers, James ignored her pointed looks and remembered the long ago afternoon he'd come across Beth in the Cameron's somewhat lesser gardens. He wished she was among the guests, wished Jorie had been able to find a way to get her there if Beth was enough recovered to attend.

One of the good things about being, even for a little while, where Cornwallis was staying was that they were able to receive their mail. James had had letters from Katy and his mother, had tried not to be upset that Beth hadn't written.

Katy's letter had been full of news of the kind of social whirl that predated the war. She'd been to several supper parties and balls, and she'd apparently spent some of those getting to know Tobias Henderson better. James hoped she was careful, hoped she didn't do something foolish before Toby delivered on his promises of securing a future that would support a wife.

His mother had been much more practical. She had passed on news forwarded from his man of affairs about Oak Point, which was still in safely in his cousin's hands and functioning. James was thankful for that. She gave her view of Katy's apparent courtship with Toby, and he was glad she was keeping a careful eye on his sister and her would-be suitor.

It was her final bit of news that most interested him:

_Anna-Elizabeth grows somewhat stronger, though she did contract another fever not long after we arrived at Charles Town. It has delayed her fuller recovery, I fear, and as a result of her ill health keeps mostly to herself. Despite the doctor's advice, she does insist on sitting in the garden for part of the day, usually with a book. At least she takes shelter in the folly._

_Helen Cameron has called upon us twice, and I have had Micah tell her we are not at home to visitors. I fear, James, she means to cause mischief for our having harbored Anna-Elizabeth, but I know not what we may do. Anna-Elizabeth believes she should find her own residence, thus, she feels, avoiding any harm Helen's gossip might cause, but there are few fit places for her to lease, even if someone were to agree to let her a house._

While he would have preferred to hear from Beth himself, Jorie had a letter from her, and James tried not to envy his companion. When she had finished reading it, she handed it over. "The last paragraph," she told him with a nod at the parchment. _Please watch out for James,_ she had written, and James tried not to take that as he was a wayward child who needed minding. _I cannot write him, I know, but please give him my fondest regards and remind him that he must keep the promise he made me when we last parted._

Passing the letter back to Jorie, James gave her an amused smile.

"Should I be worried what you might have promised?"

He grinned. "A religious experience."

Jorie frowned, but didn't ask, and for that, James was grateful.

As he walked with Miss Williams and her friend, whose name he had forgotten, he wondered what might have been in those drawings along the margins of the text Beth had mentioned and whether he would be able to accommodate her.

When the ship exploded, James sighed. Tavington looked furious, tossed his glass on the ground and gathered his men. Within moments, they were mounted and off to hunt the culprits.

In the days that followed, they hunted hard for the Ghost and his men, and James considered whether or not he should voice his suspicions. The truth of the matter was that they were only suspicions despite his certainty, so he held his counsel, unwilling to accuse a man who might turn out not to be the one they sought. Then, the Ghost ambushed a group of soldiers with a provision train on the King's Highway, and James got confirmation when the Dragoons, as planned, rode in to attack. Even if he hadn't seen Benjamin Martin and his son Gabriel escaping, the capture of John Billings would have sealed it for him.

After the chase was over, when they had counted the dead and those they took prisoner, James still debated whether or not to tell his commandant what he now knew as fact. On the one hand, they could narrow the search, on the other, he was beginning to see the ruthlessness with which Tavington intended to subjugate South Carolina, and that gave him pause.

Ironically, as they rode back to camp, Jorie was the one who seemed disturbed. When James asked, she shook her head and sighed. "Jean Villeneuve, a French officer, was with them." James hadn't seen a uniform amongst the rebels, and when he said so, Jorie shrugged. "I know Jean, and he was definitely with them."

The members of Martin's militia they captured were taken to Cornwallis's headquarters, a Jacobean-style plantation house on a hill with a good view of the surrounding country. James knew a number of the prisoners, a few of whom gave him looks they clearly hoped would have him turning up his boots. The truth was that the only one among them who remotely alarmed him was Billings, mainly because James had heard the stories of what he and Martin had done at Fort Wilderness from his own father. The others were mainly small farmers, mostly peaceable men, and God knew the Anglican priest, Oliver, couldn't scare even the meekest of his parishioners into better behavior.

It had been a heartening victory in that they had broken Martin's militia, taken about half of them. On the other hand, Martin outsmarting Cornwallis and getting his men released undermined that victory and irritated them all. It also put James in a very uncomfortable position.

His troop traded places with Jorie's after a patrol, and after eating, James was too tired to find his own tent. As a result, he took one of the cots in the mess tent and decided to catch what rest he could before he had to climb back into the saddle.

Tavington calling his name woke him, asked, "Plantation. Seven miles from Wakefield. On the Santee east of Black Swamp. Who lived there?"

The past tense would have narrowed it down if he hadn't already known. "Benjamin Martin."

Captain Borden told him, "He is the Ghost."

Then Tavington asked, "What do you know of him?"

He really should have already confessed he knew Martin was the Ghost, and now he was going to have to tell Tavington what he knew. To buy time to think, he told his commandant, "Hell, everything," before elaborating.

The Colonel obviously wasn't interested in anything but what he then demanded: "Does he have family?" Before James could respond, Tavington further asked, "Where would he hide his children?"

That shocked James. It was one thing to hunt down a man who had committed treason by taking up arms against his sovereign and his lawful government. It was a completely different matter to target the man's family, especially his children. He could answer honestly, or he could dissemble, and looking at the pale blue eyes riveted on him, he figured Tavington would know he lied. Even if he didn't, it was evident there were other men present who would point out that lie to curry favor.

He thought of Katy, thought of his mother and Beth and how they could easily be targets as well. Reluctantly, he told Tavington what he asked. "His wife's sister has a plantation. It's not far."

As they rode to Charlotte Selton's plantation, Tavington apparently in the mood to see whether or not James had told the truth, he recalled the woman. She wasn't the prettier of the two sisters, he remembered, Martin's late wife having been a genuine beauty, but she had married far better than her sister had. Widowed, she had inherited her plantation from her late husband, but, childless, she hadn't been in a hurry to remarry. James knew that was likely because it had long been obvious that she was in love with her sister's husband, and that was a relationship prohibited by affinity under the law.

Given the order to lead the search of the house, James did so and was glad it appeared empty. It was possible they might be hiding in a cellar, but if they had realized the Dragoons were coming and had taken shelter, it was quite likely they had left the house entirely. If not, then good for Charlotte for having hidden Benjamin Martin's children. He reported to Tavington. "There's no one in the house, Sir."

"They can't be far," Tavington told him. "Search the out buildings and the woods—quickly."

"Yes, Sir," James responded and led the men out to do so.

They made an honest search, though James was greatly relieved to find no sign of them. He was deeply concerned about what Tavington might do, how he might use Martin's children, and that concern was solidified when Tavington shot a slave before he could reasonably answer Tavington's demand to know where Charlotte and the Martin children might be. Slaves might be property, and it might be an unnecessary and expensive waste to kill one, but James uncomfortably acknowledged the dead man was a human being who hadn't deserved that.

As they fired the plantation's main house, Martin turned up. James had never been so glad to take up the chase, figured that Martin deserved what he got—but the man's young children did not. As he rode, he considered what he'd heard about how Thomas Martin had died, and while he thought Gabriel and Benjamin had freely made their choices and took their chances, the younger Martin children didn't deserve to be tortured for information they likely didn't have or needlessly killed because they didn't have the answers to Tavington's demands.

After they lost the trail, James thought carefully about what limits might be on his service to the Crown.

-X-

He caught a break then, or at least he chose to see it as such. Tavington had to go to Charles Town, and he offered to let James and Jorie have time to visit their family. They rode with the Colonel and the others, but James left their company as they approached Bay Street and headed for the Wilkins's town home. He'd invited Jorie to stay with them, and though she accepted, she told him she had business to see to first.

It was only as he approached the house that James realized he should have sent word ahead to his mother. The large house was a welcome sight, and James found himself grinning as he dismounted and handed his reins over to a stable lad who had come running. He strode to the house and up the steps. Someone must have alerted his mother, for Temperance Wilkins broke protocol to rush out the door and fly at James who was more than happy to fold his arms around his mother for a tight hug.

"Let me look at you!" she exclaimed as she pushed herself enough away from him to see if he was unharmed. He grinned broadly at her, submitted to her inspection and to being crushed himself when she had finished.

In the next moment, Katy took her place, and when his sister released him, they dragged him inside. On his way upstairs to wash and change, it finally dawned on him that Beth had not appeared, and he hadn't seen her in the downstairs rooms.

Caleb was already laying out clean clothes, and he'd provided heated water, which James thanked him for. He didn't waste any time, particularly since he had only a few days before he had to return to his unit. As clean as he could get without a bath—and Caleb informed him there hadn't been time to prepare one but that he'd see to it—James put on clean clothes, told Caleb to have Bess get someone to prepare Jorie a room, and joined the women downstairs.

His mother headed off his intent to ask after Beth by launching into a litany of news, very little of which James was genuinely interested in. He hid his impatience as best he could, accepted the cup of tea she handed him and the more substantial food than the usual cake and biscuits Bess provided with gratitude. He tried not to wolf the food, remembered the many rebukes from his adolescence about his eating—both in terms of manners and quantity—and looked for an opening which he might exploit to ask about Beth.

Katy smiled at him and told him the Redfields were having a ball that evening, and that they had planned to attend. She chattered on about who else would attend, but James couldn't say he was at all enthusiastic about being social. He'd far rather spend a quiet evening with them and with Beth before retiring to his own bed. He needed sleep, but he'd be happy to indulge Beth and her desire to experiment if she felt up to it.

"I'm surprised you've not asked about Anna-Elizabeth," his mother interjected when Katy paused to sip tea.

"I've not had the opportunity to do so without being rude," he said with a faint smile, "and my mother used to punish me for rudely interrupting a woman speaking."

"I see army discipline has done nothing to curb your cheek," his mother snorted, but James could see amusement beneath her rebuke. "She's in the folly. I'm surprised she didn't hear you arrive."

It was all James could do not to immediately head outside to the garden to find her. The folly was something his father had built on a whim after a trip to England when James was a young boy. It was a small brick building, about six feet square with open archways on each wall. His father had used it to get some peace when Katy and James had been children, especially during the hot, damp summers where the nearby trees provided enough shade to mitigate the heat.

He stayed put, though, answered Katy's questions about battle, severely edited to spare her the blood and gore but to provide enough excitement to make her happy. When Katy's questions began to fade, his mother told him, "Go see if Anna-Elizabeth is alright."

Standing, James crossed to her chair and bent to kiss her cheek before he walked to the back of the house, out the door and down the stone steps to the crushed rock path that led to the folly. He kept his eyes on the brick where he could see a bit of pale green fabric through one archway.

James stood in the opening and looked at her. Someone had placed a long, bench inside the small structure, and Beth lay on it. She was on her side, propped on several plump pillows, an open book resting on the bench beneath her. Her eyes were closed, and James realized she slept.

Stepping quietly inside, he moved so that he stood behind her and then folded himself carefully onto the cushion on which she rested. She stirred slightly, then settled deeper into sleep. She was pale, he noticed, but she seemed otherwise healthy. She had put on a little more weight than she had carried when last he saw her. Her shorn hair wasn't noticeably longer, though, and the humidity had made it curl.

Taking a moment to study the view outside the folly, James realized they could only be seen by someone in the garden. His father had oriented the building in such a way that the only clear view inside would come from standing on the pathway to the house or on the manicured grass of the garden. As a result, he slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips on her exposed throat.

Beth stirred, turned toward him and slowly opened her eyes. Her smile was faint, but then she simply closed her eyes again.

James stared at her, disappointed. He'd expected a more enthusiastic greeting than that. Perhaps she hadn't wakened enough to know he was truly there, so he bent again and slanted his lips over hers.

This time her face lit, and she breathed his name before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him to her. That, he thought, as she kissed him in return, was much more like it. Her eyes and hands ran over him, checked for damage, and he waited, wondered if every female was going to see if he was unharmed before speaking to him. Beth simply wound her arms around him when she finished her inspection and held him tightly. He was perfectly willing to let her.

Stretching out next to her, it occurred to James that it was a good thing her bench was at an angle. As it was, his feet hung off the end, but that was probably better than having them wedged against one of the cornered walls. "I'm so glad to see you," Beth told him.

"Mother wrote that you'd been ill again," he said, studied her.

"A slight setback," she dismissed before leaning into him to claim his lips. "I'm fine." She cocked her head, and he watched her expression turn to worry. "Jorie?"

"Is fine and should put in an appearance before much longer." He stroked a hand along her side and added, "I invited her to stay with us, but she claimed she had business before she arrives."

Beth nodded and moved closer to him on the narrow bench. Her movement dislodged her book, and it fell on the bricked floor. James rolled her a bit and looked at where it had fluttered to the ground. He frowned when he saw what it was. "_Common Sense_?"

A blush stole over her face. "I thought I might see what the fuss was about."

Instinctively, he wanted to ask where she had managed to get a copy of that pamphlet, but then he remembered there had been a copy in the library. His father had practically frothed when he first read it, and James's reaction hadn't been much different.

"That man is a lunatic," she said. "While I will concede that some of what he writes is true of some bad rulers, and I will admit that your King George and your parliament have made grave errors in ruling its American colonies, he is simply wrong about some of the governmental structures he criticizes, and some of what he proposes is simply preposterous."

"Is that the princess talking?" he asked with a grin.

"No, that is the voice of reason," she told him. He had the impression that the booklet had angered her despite her even tone. "And experience," she tacked on.

Her hand came up to rest against his cheek, and James turned and kissed her palm. "Were it not broad daylight and the middle of the afternoon," he told her softly, "I'd make love to you here."

Those green eyes of hers darkened, and he sincerely hoped she didn't invite him to do so despite the fact that anyone could come upon them. "Then I wish it was dark and we had privacy."

"Katy said you were invited to a ball this evening."

Beth made a face. "I hadn't planned to attend."

"I thought women always seized any opportunity to put on their finery and show it off to other women."

A sly amusement danced in her eyes. "I could point you at a number of peacocks who prove that your sex isn't immune to the instinct."

He laughed and kissed her, was still kissing her when he heard his mother's raised voice say, "Your sister was reading earlier."

"My cue to let you go so that Jorie doesn't decide to separate my head from my body," he murmured as he sat up and moved to sit next to her feet.

His mother's expression said he fooled no one, and Jorie's was simply amused. He stood, bowed and left with his mother. As he followed her up the steps to the house, she told him, "Don't think I don't know what you were up to, James."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he assured her.

-X-

If he'd expected his mother to decide to remain at home because he'd arrived, he would have been disappointed. James put on a clean uniform, found a pair of gloves, and prepared to escort his mother and sister to the Redfields' ball.

Downstairs he found Jorie, also in uniform waiting, and, to his surprise, so was Beth. She was lovely in a deep green gown, but she looked unhappy.

"Jorie says it might be best not to continue hiding," she said, and her voice made her disagreement clear.

Before he could make a response, his mother and sister joined them, and they departed.

Beth refused to dance, sat demurely near James's mother, and James kept an eye on her as the evening progressed. It was only as he spoke with Luiza d'Oliviera that he realized Helen Cameron and her daughters had arrived.

"Honoria Cameron looks as though she'd like to skewer you," Luiza told him with a smile.

"I'm told I drive many women to exasperation."

Her smile broadened. "I suspect it has more to do with the fact that her sister-in-law has sought refuge with your mother than anything you have personally done."

James made no reply, simply studied the young woman beside him. He wondered what she knew, had heard, and if she was aware that what she had just said was a lie—it was very much about what James had done and not done.

Luiza's deep brown eyes met his. "Unless it's true that you've seduced Will's wife, and he has cast her out."


	17. Chapter 17

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 17**

"I, for one, don't believe it," Luiza continued as James sought words to deflect her. "If anything, I suspect Will's own behavior drove her to run from him." She lifted her glass, raised her brows before adding, "And good for her."

Perhaps it was shock that had him asking, "Will's behavior?"

Luiza grimaced. "Anyone who ever saw the two of them together couldn't help but notice how he ignored her." She shrugged. "Then there were the rumors that Will might have preferred someone else."

James barely kept his mouth from dropping open at the last part of that. He blinked, sipped the wine in his glass, and thought hard. Had everyone but him known about Will's tastes in lovers? "Who?"

The smile that tipped her lips then said he was an idiot, and James chafed at that. "I suppose it doesn't really matter," she said. "His little wife has exhibited behavior that indicates she's been a chaste and dutiful wife, but if you don't stop looking at her as though you'd like to eat her, people will begin to believe Honoria and her mother."

James sipped at his wine, wondered if he really did look at Beth as though he'd like to consume her, supposed he probably did, and resolved to stop doing so—at least in public.

Luiza wasn't finished, apparently. "As a merchant, my father hears many things. One of those things touches on you." She met his gaze steadily. "Helen Cameron is sinking in debt. She would sell Hart's Crossing to try and stay afloat, but without her son's permission, without the house, and with a prize portion of it in her daughter-in-law's hands, no one is willing to pay her price. A number of potential buyers have approached Anna-Elizabeth, who will not sell."

"Can't," James corrected.

"I'm well aware," Luiza said with a nod. "Some of them are eyeing Oak Point, reminding people that you are one of the King's men and that your plantation should be forfeit, and there are others who believe it can be leveraged in order to force you to choose between preserving your own property and, as her trustee, convincing Anna-Elizabeth to sell."

There would be no question that he would do what he must to save Oak Point for his family. Selling her acreage was unlikely to concern Anna-Elizabeth, but win or lose, James fully intended to return to his home and take up planting again once the war was over. He also fully intended to honor the promise he'd made Robert Cameron to help Beth earn a degree of independence, especially since he was now certain Robert had made his bequest because he had known his son's marriage would unravel. He didn't dismiss or make light of what Luiza said, knew she reported what her father had probably told her and what was likely truth.

"You might have been wiser, James, to hedge your bets." She nodded across at where Helen Cameron held court. "While she is in Charles Town and while it is held by the British, she talks publicly about her own loyalty to the Crown, but in other venues, she supports her son's position." Luiza sighed. "She is not the only one, and it is true that many families have with very great calculation divided themselves so that they come out on the winning side—regardless of which one that is."

Her hand touched his forearm, and her eyes met his. He read genuine concern there. "Tread carefully, James. They do but wait for a misstep from you."

As he watched her walk away, he weighed her warning. He continued to mull it over as he spoke to others, gave it more credence when more than one man very obviously felt him out about purchasing Beth's legacy from her father-in-law. James dissembled each time.

For most of the evening, he managed to avoid all but the youngest Cameron. Lydia smiled at him, said hello, but quickly moved on. She was a relatively shy girl, so James thought little of it. It was when he finally couldn't avoid Honoria that he hoped against hope to emerge from the encounter unscathed.

She sidled up to him, and he had no choice but to remain where he was. He wouldn't cause gossip by walking away from her or giving her an excuse to create a scene. He steeled himself, though, for whatever mischief she had in mind.

"James," she said tartly with an insincere smile. "Burn any friends' homes lately?"

That rankled, not least because he had not personally done so and because he thought it a small price for the Camerons to pay for what had been done to Beth. "Miss Cameron," he returned through gritted teeth.

Her brows rode up. "Perhaps I should have asked if you'd bedded any of your other friends' wives."

It was said loudly enough to turn a few heads in their direction. James lifted his glass and finished his wine. There was no way to answer that which wouldn't allow her to pounce like the vicious cat she was, so he put a bored look on his face and said nothing.

Honoria tutted. "I understand you can't challenge a woman, James, but I really would have thought you'd at least deny seducing Will's wife."

"As someone far wiser than I recently noted," he told her, not at all bothering to muffle his voice, "why bother when it's well-known you have but a passing acquaintance with truth."

More than Honoria's breath hissed in at his words.

"You might wish to remember, Miss Cameron, that two can play your game, but only one of us has little to lose in doing so."

It was only then that he realized Honoria was actually the one with little to lose.

The threat, though, was enough to make her face turn scarlet with fury before she flounced away.

There was no question that it had been badly done, and there was no question there would be penalties to pay for it. James could but wonder which of them would have to make that payment.

His mother cornered him when they arrived home at the end of the evening. The others went upstairs to retire for the night and to prepare for bed, but Temperance dragged him into the parlor and closed the doors. He was clearly in for a scolding, and there would be no avoiding it.

"Did you have to publicly engage Honoria Cameron in quite that manner, James?"

Feeling seven years old again, James set his teeth but made no response.

"Honestly, James! That girl is dangerous, and you know very well you cannot claim the moral high ground here," his mother reminded him.

"What would you have had me do?" He tried to make that civil, but some of his exasperation escaped.

"Ignore her! Give her the cut direct if you had to, but all you've managed to accomplish is to simply add fuel to the fire she and her mother have been fanning since they arrived in Charles Town."

James heaved a hard sigh. "Perhaps you're right," he began.

"You know very well I am," she retorted. "For goodness' sake, James, you've cuckolded your best friend, and I am harboring your mistress in this house when she should, rightfully, be with Helen and her daughters. This entire situation is so far beyond the pale I have no idea any longer what compels you to such lunacy."

"Then perhaps," he said silkily, "you should have allowed Anna-Elizabeth to find her own residence so that her presence would not embarrass you so."

He might as well have slapped her from her expression, and James looked for an apology he could deliver and mean. He did not want to be at odds with his mother, but Beth's protection was as important to him as that of his mother and Katy.

His mother threw her hand up, palm forward. "Let's neither of us say something we don't really mean," she cautioned.

James should have heeded that, but everything he'd kept bottled inside came pouring out. "I think the problem is that we're both saying exactly what we mean for a change, Mother." She blanched, but now that he was started, it kept coming. "I told you at Oak Point that I love her, and whether you shelter her or I find a place in which to keep her, Beth will not return to the Camerons."

"That would simply allow all of Charles Town to know that Honoria, for once, told the truth," his mother snapped.

"And while I would sincerely hate to provide her any kind of vindication," he bit out, "I will do whatever is necessary to prevent any further harm from coming to Beth." He watched as Temperance opened her mouth to say more and then cut her off before she could start. "If you force me to choose, Mother, you will not like the choice I make. I am the master in this house, and while I will do my duty by you and by Katy, I will not allow you to turn Beth out of my home and endanger her safety."

"You are an impossible man, James!"

Her frustrated growl might have amused him in other circumstances. "And you made me the impossible man I am."

She drew herself up and narrowed her eyes. "I did not raise you to defy God's commandments, James."

That hadn't been at all what he meant, but it made him take a mental step back. "No," he conceded, "you did not, but you did raise me to admire an intelligent woman, to respect all women as they so deserve, to not lift my hand in anger to one, and to protect those among them who most need it."

From her expression, his mother was seemingly willing to concede the point though unhappy in that concession. James didn't like the feeling that he might have gone that one step too far in the last few moments.

"You are my son," she said in a much more moderate tone, but there was no warmth there, which made James uneasy. "I love you, and no matter how distasteful I find your actions, they do not change that. I do warn you, though, that there is only so far I am willing to go, and if having Anna-Elizabeth here jeopardizes Katy or her reputation, then I will do what must be done to protect my own child."

There was no mistaking her warning, and James held his tongue—which he should have done more than once that evening since his conversation with Honoria—silently acknowledged the gossip she spread likely did more damage than Beth's presence in his home, particularly since he was generally absent while he served with the Dragoons. He further admitted that left his mother and Katy to face the consequences in his absence.

"I understand," he said tightly.

His mother looked tired then. "I doubt you do, James. Perhaps when you have children of your own . . . ." She stopped there, and from the way her face paled, James knew she was desperately hoping he hadn't made progress in that direction given any child of his would likely be Beth's as well and would provide definitive proof of their continuing indiscretion. His mother gathered herself together, straightened her spine and said, "I shall say goodnight."

He nodded, moved aside so that she could pass, and when she was gone, he splashed whiskey in a glass and swallowed it quickly before pouring a second glass and dropping into a chair.

It wasn't difficult to understand his mother's objections. As she had pointed out, she had raised him in the Anglican Church, and even though as an adult he was a little less diligent about tending to his immortal soul, he still held his faith, such as it was. In his heart, he didn't see what he and Beth had done as adultery, despite the church's teachings and the law, but there was no way he'd ever make his mother understand that he was more Beth's husband than Will had ever been.

Despite that, her point was well-taken, and James decided that he would do nothing to further try her patience with him while he was home. He'd have to disappoint Beth in order to placate his mother. As he sat in the dimly lit room, he wondered what Beth might have asked of him in regards to what he had promised when they left Oak Point.

Wearily, he ascended the stairs to his room and undressed. He hadn't had a lot of rest of late, so perhaps it was just as well he intended to leave Beth be. She had seemed tired, too, so perhaps she was safely asleep as well. It was all that kept him from looking for her in one of the guest rooms. He climbed into bed naked. While in camp, he slept fully dressed as the other men did in order to be ready at a moment's notice and because a raid at night was not unheard of, but he had never liked bedclothes, and once he'd become enough of an adult to not be forced to wear them, he'd quit.

It felt good, he thought, settling into the mattress, to be comfortably in his own bed again.

A few months of army life had taught him to sleep through certain kinds of noise but snap awake at others. When James's eyes opened, his body tensed as he tried to ascertain the danger, and he wondered what had woken him. He had instantly realized he was in his own bed, but what might have disturbed his sleep was not immediately apparent.

He heard light footsteps, wondered who was out of bed and if he should go see for himself. Unless his mother had put Beth or Jorie on the same floor with him, the rest of the household should be asleep below, and James doubted a servant would be roaming his floor at this time of night without having been summoned.

The sound of his bedroom door softly opening and then closing had him cautiously easing his body so that he could try and see who had entered. He tried to remember if he had anything near enough to hand that could be used as a weapon before he heard Beth's ragged, "James?"

Rolling the rest of the way over, he saw her beside his bed. He eased up onto his elbows and, remembering his argument with his mother earlier, said gruffly, "You shouldn't be here, Beth."

Her body was hunched in on itself, but he didn't need to see her face to tell something had frightened her. He sighed, eased his weight onto one elbow and rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger on his free hand. He waited for her to say something, but she just stood there. He frowned when he realized she was shaking, and he sat fully up. "What's wrong?"

"Bad dream," she breathed heavily.

He was going to regret this, he knew, but, perhaps, he could wake her early enough to send her back to her own bed before his mother or anyone else found out. He flipped the covers back and reached a hand out for her.

She moved closer to the bed, took his hand, but she only knelt on the side of the bed. James let her stay there. "About what?"

"Will," she breathed.

"You're safe here," he said and then wondered how true that was. If Will came, if he brought armed friends or a representative of the law, then Beth would be forced to go with her husband. They would have no right to refuse. He tugged her hand, felt a little bereft at the idea because once Will took her back, he'd likely see to it she remained imprisoned this time.

With obvious reluctance, Beth let him pull her closer and then down next to him. He drew the covers back over her and tucked her against him. "Tell me about it," he told her softly.

Beth's arm stole around him. "I dreamed he killed you, and I had to make sure he really hadn't."

It would be easy to dismiss her fears, but James couldn't help feeling he shouldn't do so out of hand. "Beth," he began.

Her head shifted on his shoulder. "He could, James, and we both know it."

Well aware that was an uncomfortable truth, James rolled to more fully face her, pulled her closer.

"I couldn't bear it," she whispered, and it sounded like she might cry.

"I wouldn't be very happy about it, either," he joked, and her slight laugh was more a choked sob. He kissed her then. "I take care, Beth," he assured her, "and so far I've not seen Will." He didn't add that he had been looking.

"You didn't take care this evening," she whispered, and his attention sharpened on her. Had Will attended that ball and James simply not seen him? He was about to ask when she continued. "You should not have provoked Honoria as you did."

"You're the second woman to tell me that tonight," he groused.

"That's why your mother dragged you off when we arrived here."

He nodded, kissed her again, lingered over it. "I let my temper get away from me," he admitted, "and I did it again with my mother."

"I should go," she whispered, and James knew she didn't mean back to her bed.

"No, Beth, you should stay here," he told her. "At the moment, there is only Helen and Honoria's word against what was pointed out to me has been your exemplary public behavior. If you were to set up house alone, not only would you be at risk from your in-laws, but every bastard who wants that damned land Robert Cameron left you would besiege you."

"Perhaps you should let me sell it," she whispered. "The Camerons want only that from me."

James thought of what Luiza had said, implied. "They need you back in the family fold, Beth," he told her. "Will's . . . proclivities have become a matter of gossip."

Her face lifted to his. "Then I have some protection if I return."

"After what they tried to do to you and why," he told her, "I suspect they will simply choose a quicker method. After all, you've been ill, so no one would question it much if you relapsed and succumbed."

The last thing he intended was to let her think she could return to the vipers' nest, and it angered him that she thought doing so would quell the gossip. It might convince some, but others would wonder, and speculation would run rife. A wife didn't seek shelter with the neighbors, have no contact with her in-laws, no visits to or from them, and then go home again without many wondering why.

It occurred to him that her cry or whatever it was that had woken him had not, apparently woken the others. It also occurred to him that she was in his arms, and he was unlikely to have this opportunity again anytime soon. He moved his hand, let it drift over her nightgown toward the curve of her bottom. Her breathing shallowed, picked up a little speed, and then the hand flattened on his back moved down as well. When he kissed her this time, it had nothing to do with comfort.

"Get it off," he breathed, as he pulled her over him.

Her knees settled on either side of his hips, and she lifted herself upright to pull her nightgown over her head. His hands followed the hem up her torso but paused at her breasts. He watched them rise and settle back into his palms with her movements. Want flooded through him, and when she slid against him, he ran his hands to her hips, moved her heated dampness along his length.

Beth leaned forward, though, and put her hands on his shoulders and then used them to exert some pressure of her own. "I believe," she told him softly, "you promised to assist me with an experiment."

Snorting, James figured it would get him what he wanted, so he could indulge her. "So I did."

Resting her body along his, she folded her hands on his chest and met his gaze.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I'm trying to choose," she told him softly. "One of the drawings had the man and his wife seated. She was in his lap facing him, each with their feet braced behind the other on the surface beneath them."

James could see that, but he considered the effort it would take on both their parts. "Sounds like too much work to me."

She flashed him a smile. "I thought so as well." Beth cocked her head to the side. "Another showed the woman kneeling in front of the man, sort of bent forward, like the Muslim do in prayer, while he . . . ."

Her voice trailed off, and James considered making her say it because he liked her voice with its faint accent and liked the images she put in his head. Despite the fact that he wasn't sure how Muslims prayed, he thought he might like taking her from behind. "Show me," he said gruffly and removed his arms from around her as she moved off him to rearrange her body.

Moonlight lit her skin, and James studied the line of her spine, the dips and flares of her torso and bottom as he moved to kneel behind her. Perhaps there was something to her overgrown charge when he'd carried her down the stairs at Oak Point. "I think a little modification may be called for," he told her. Her legs were folded so that her bottom rested on her heels, and he feared he'd crush her if he had to lean over her to accomplish the goal. He put his hands on her hips and lifted, shifted so that her legs extended and raised her to her knees while her feet slipped between his knees. Then he considered something else and reached to pull her upright and snugged her body to his.

"This isn't what I suggested, though there was also a drawing very like this," she breathed as he cradled her breasts again.

James bent forward and kissed her shoulder. "We'll get back to that," he promised, "but for now, let's make sure you're ready."

Her face turned to his, and he caught her mouth. He let one of his hands slide over her stomach to the apex of her thighs. He pressed a kiss on her cheek, another where her jaw met her neck below her ear, and looked down her body. Behind definitely had the advantage of letting him watch her body, and his blood heated as he realized it would allow him to watch his own join hers.

His fingers stroked her as his mouth nibbled along her shoulder. Beth's hand rose to cover the one of his still over her breast, and she leaned back into him. When her hips began to move restlessly against him, he slid his hand from between her thighs and bent her over again.

He'd never quite felt anything like that before, he thought as he slid inside her. Something about this particular position tightened her, let him go deeper inside her, and when he eased back and started to thrust forward again, she shifted back onto him at the same time. _Definitely an improvement_, he thought and let the instinctive rhythm take over, but, oh Christ, it was a mistake, too, because it had been too long since he'd last had her, and he wasn't going to last long.

One of her hands lifted, and for a moment, her body wobbled, but then she lowered her shoulders to the mattress, and the hand that had destabilized her found his thigh, slid upward. He nearly snatched it when she moved it, but then it settled on his balls, and he forgot everything but the sensation of moving inside her and one of her fingers pressing just behind his balls as the rest closed around them.

He thought he fainted, hoped he hadn't bellowed in his pleasure and woken the house, and when he was himself again, he realized he had to be crushing her into the mattress. Her face turned to his, and her mouth pressed into his. "I think you enjoyed that," she said with a smile.

Words were well beyond him at that point, but after a moment or two, he breathed, "What else would you like to try?"

Beth laughed softly, and then James wondered if she had been half as fortunate as he or it he had the need to apologize to her, make it up to her when he was able. "Breathing," she told him with a smile.

Easing his weight off her, James kissed her shoulder and considered asking, but she didn't seem to have taken offense or to be unhappy. She leaned toward him and caught his mouth, kissed him deeply. "I liked the way you felt inside me," she whispered, and James found her soft, sultry tone started his body on the way to the kind of recovery that would allow a second attempt. "Perhaps a variation on the theme." She suggested that he stretch on top her along her back.

Since her hand had provided an interesting assist just then, he nearly countered with the idea of perfecting what they had just done. Her hand reached to provide another assist, and he ran his own over her bottom, down between her legs to find her from behind. Her breath caught as his lips met hers, and given that he'd generally only experienced sex in one or two positions with minor variations, he suddenly found himself picturing loving Beth in a variety of others, some spurred from that book by Cleland he'd read years ago and some from what she had described. It had never really occurred to him before that variety could matter, only that satisfaction did.

She lifted on her elbows when he moved to lie between her thighs. He pressed a kiss on one of her buttocks and then bit gently. She looked over her shoulder at him, and he kept his eyes on hers as he slid his hands beneath her to her breasts and began kissing his way up her spine. When he kissed over her shoulder her mouth met his, and he was momentarily content to kiss her deeply.

It was harder on his back this way. He had to use his elbows as leverage, but it did allow his hands to play with her breasts, something she seemed to appreciate. He nibbled at her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, and, when she turned her face his way, her mouth. Then her breathing speeded, and her body began to clench around him. He moved faster, and when she came, he caught her mouth, held it with his to muffle the cry that was still startlingly loud, and then it was his turn.

Collapsing next to her, he waited for his breathing to slow, and then, as he looked at her face inches from his, asked, "Think you could get someone to send that manuscript to you?"

Beth laughed. "Interested in pursuing religious studies?"

"I don't know about you," he countered, "but I think that qualified as a religious experience."

"'Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you,'" she quoted.

Instantly, James sobered, remembered that the lines that preceded that particular quotation from First Corinthians spoke of judgment and included references to those who commit adultery. Worse was the chapter that followed, for it spoke of husbands and wives and of fidelity and marriage. He was surprised his mother had not reminded him of those passages during their argument.

"James?" Beth's soft concern cut in on his thoughts.

He supposed it was too late for his immortal soul, so he leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back. Man might judge him eternally damned for loving Beth and having acted upon those feelings—certainly woman in the form of his mother did—but James had a little trouble believing God would have formed this woman so perfectly suited to him and set her in his path if she were not meant to be his. He didn't much care if that was blasphemous, nor did he care that the law would agree he was in the wrong. What mattered to him was that Beth loved him in return.

Their bodies turned to one another and met, their limbs tangled, and still he kissed her, stroked her.

Will might be her husband, but he had not done the one thing that would seal the bargain. "Have you considered an annulment?" James asked.

Her hand came forward onto his cheek, and she looked at him. "I spoke to a solicitor," she told him softly.

His eyes widened, and he wondered if some of the rumors might not be fueled by whomever she had consulted. He asked who, and she told him. James knew the man, one of Huguenots, and knew he would never betray what Beth might have told him.

"He says that I would have to appeal to the Church because the legal courts cannot grant either an annulment or a divorce."

"I would marry you, Beth, were you free," he told her as he had told her sister.

She swallowed thickly. "My only option, apparently, is to request a formal separation from Will. Provided he allows it—and I'm sure he would if I promised to make his preferences public—then I would be independent of him." Her thumb stroked his cheek. "I would not, though, be allowed to marry again. At best, I could only publicly be your mistress."

There were many men who settled for that, he knew, who were unhappily married and whose wives were equally miserable, who chose separation and then took up with others. He couldn't do that to his mother, though, because it would ruin Katy's chances at a good marriage. Even the Hendersons would not allow her into their family if James and Beth cohabited as man and wife—and if they were to live together, it would be as man and wife even if they were not legally married to one another.

"This is all there can be," she told him softly, put her arms around him, "at least it is all there can be here."

The mood already broken, something James regretted almost as bitterly as he regretted the fact that she was Will's wife, he reminded her yet again, "I will not leave South Carolina, Beth, so if you truly want me, you will have to reconsider terms."

"You know as well as I, James, that no terms are acceptable. Your mother would disavow you, Katy's chances of a good marriage would be completely ruined, and when the time comes for you to do your own duty, you will need to marry a respectable woman who can provide you with legitimate heirs."

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that if Will died, she could marry him, but he could see enough of her expression to know she wouldn't take that well. "I wouldn't be the first man to allow illegitimate heirs to inherit," he told her.

"Neither of us has the kind of social standing that would allow a child of ours to fully claim his position in Charles Town society."

James sighed, knew there was no winning this particular debate, so he prepared to drop the subject. "Be that as it may, Beth, nothing changes how I feel for you, and nothing will persuade me to set you aside, especially not for a wife."

"Then I shall have to choose for you," she said, and he felt something like a tremor run through her.

He rolled her beneath him and held her face where she couldn't look away from him. "You told me not to make your choices for you, Beth," he reminded her tightly, "so I'll be damned if you'll make mine for me."

"My cousin's ship, _The Delilah_, should reach Charles Town this month," she told him. "Perhaps I should allow Frank to take me back to Europe."

"I forbid it," he told her.

"You cannot," she shot back, and it was obvious she was angry.

He opened his mouth to tell her he damned well could, but then he shut it. It was true; he couldn't.

After several moments of silence, she told him in a soft, hesitant voice, "I do not wish to go, but I can't let you destroy your good name and that of your family."

"I'll be gone, Beth, and without me here, there's nothing to provide fodder for gossip. You're far safer here than you would be anywhere else."

"I would be most safe if I returned to my homeland," she reminded him.

James figured that was true, but to try and persuade her, he offered, "But with the war, it's unlikely to be a safe voyage." He sighed, ran a caressing hand over her skin, along the dip of her waist and up her ribcage. "Stay." He added a long, soft kiss to his plea.

"James." She didn't sound convinced, so he palmed her breast kissed her again. "Alright."

With her concession, he set about restoring a sense of harmony between them, and she didn't seem to mind at all that he used his body to do so.

-X-

When he woke, the faint light of dawn was breaking. Beth stirred beside him, and he knew he should send her back to her own bed, but he was reluctant to do so. Given the choice, he'd keep her with him, lock his door and refuse to open it until he had to leave, but that was simply not possible. On the other hand, he would be wise not to let his mother discover where Beth had spent the night.

Opening her eyes, Beth stared at him. He shifted, rolled toward her and kissed her.

"I must go," she told him softly and slipped out of the bed to find her nightgown.

James was tempted to tell her his plan to hole up in his room, but he didn't, watched until she was gone and then flopped back on his mattress and stared up at the canopy on the bed.

Something had to change, one way or the other, or this was going to drive him to madness.


	18. Chapter 18

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 18**

Shopping had to be one of the levels of hell Dante must have forgotten to mention in his _Inferno_, James thought as he escorted Katy out of yet another in a seemingly endless number of shops. She and Beth had decided to spend part of the morning looking at what wares there were to be had in occupied Charles Town. James decided that neither had any real goal in mind beyond getting out of the house for a few hours. Not that he minded, he supposed. Much.

Alright, he minded. It bored him to follow two women through varied merchants' establishments, listen as they discussed what goods were on offer and then left each shop empty-handed. Admittedly, years of war and the non-import and non-export laws on both sides of the conflict meant there was little available, and what was available was offered at outrageous prices. In addition, the limitations of exporting crops meant that the funds available to make purchases were considerably less than they had been in previous years, but he got the impression that even had this not been so, neither his sister nor Beth would have purchased much. He would never understand what compelled women to poke through items they saw regularly without any apparent desire to actually acquire them.

It was much more sensible to only visit a shopkeeper for what one needed, after all, rather than waste either's time.

Jorie had accompanied her sister, was, officially her escort, and James wondered why he hadn't simply let her chaperone this shopping excursion while he took care of other business. As his eyes settled on Beth, though, he knew why. Unless he wanted a scandal, he could hardly spend time with Beth, particularly in public, without the camouflage provided by socially acceptable activities and escorts, and while he would have preferred it was she rather than his sister who took his arm as they left yet another shop, at least no one could argue he was showing undue interest in a married woman.

James nearly stopped her as Beth started to enter a cabinetmaker's shop. The man who owned it might have pledged support for England after the British occupied Charles Town, but James knew him for the rebel sympathizer he was. The Germans mostly were, though. He supposed Böhmer had to make a living, had several children and a wife to support, so he didn't stop her and Jorie from entering. He and Katy followed them, and when the proprietor asked Jorie if he could assist them, the German was taken aback when Beth stepped forward and drew a piece of paper from the pocket case she carried. "I've seen several examples of your work," she explained, "and I wondered if you could construct something like this for me."

Curious, James wanted to step forward and see what she requested, and he was thankful that Katy's own curiosity had her dragging him to the counter to see for herself. It was a kind of wooden long chair.

The man asked, "For what purpose?"

Beth's smile was charming. "I would like something for the garden, something that would allow me to recline in comfort while I take the air."

"Frau Cameron," he began, and James, through his anger at hearing her addressed so, noted the man knew who she was with no introduction.

Beth smoothly interrupted in his native tongue. Since he didn't speak German, James simply waited, wondered what she told him. The man then looked squarely at him, and in his accented English said, "Herr Wilkins." James schooled his features as the man addressed his comments to him. "It's unseemly to build something on which a woman might sleep in public."

"I believe she intends to furnish a folly with it." James remembered how she had tried to make the bench she had moved from the garden into his folly comfortable enough to rest on. It was too narrow and didn't really fit the space into which she had moved it, and James began to see the utility of what she requested—especially if it could easily accommodate both of them.

He enjoyed the man's puzzled expression, but then the cabinetmaker dropped his eyes to the drawing and studied it. "It's fairly simple," Böhmer said, and from his distracted words, James could tell he was considering the commission. "As the lady notes, an adjustable back will take some consideration. You'll want a wood that resists rot, though, since our air is humid most of the time, and it will likely encounter weather even in a somewhat protected structure." He stepped away to a door that presumably led to his workshop and bellowed for someone named Karl.

It was then that James realized the cabinetmaker had addressed all his comments to him. While the man consulted this Karl, James looked at Jorie. The woman's amusement was plain. "You're her relative," he began softly, but the testiness was clearly there.

Jorie grinned broadly. "You're the one who told him why she wants it."

"She's not my sister, and—"

"She can speak for herself," Beth inserted firmly.

Her expression said that both of them should leave her to conduct her own business. James decided watching her deal with the taciturn German might provide some interesting entertainment, especially since Beth clearly didn't understand that the man with whom she proposed to do business fully expected a man responsible for her welfare to conduct that business.

The German returned to tell James, "We can do as the lady wishes. Karl suggests using cedar or oak, since both will resist rot. The question we have is the upholstery."

As he opened his mouth to ask the Princess, because James was certain the Princess was about to make an appearance, Beth answered the man in German. Whatever she said caused Böhmer to look angry, and then, as she continued, he shot looks at James. Apparently, he didn't learn from whatever Beth had told him. "Herr Wilkins—"

"She is not my wife, nor is she a relative," James said, perversely willing to support Beth, "and since her husband is not here and her brother chooses not to interfere, I suggest you discuss this with Her Highness."

Jorie bit her lip to keep from laughing, especially, James suspected, since she was not, as James stated, Beth's closest male relative.

He suspected it was the royal title that had the man looking at Beth and directing his comments to her. Böhmer obviously asked a question, and then Beth reeled out her full name and a long list of what he suspected were her titles—there was the princess part, the duchess part, at least one countess, and a couple of other, lesser ones. The change in the man was startling, and James watched thoughtfully. The man was all for throwing off the yoke of royal tyranny, and yet here he was, pandering to a series of royal titles.

Her business concluded, Beth took Jorie's arm and practically dragged her sister from the shop.

"You knew what would likely happen, Anna," James heard Jorie say.

"I didn't think he would expect James to grant permission," she bit out.

"I suspect it was because Mr. Böhmer knows James," Katy said. Beth turned to look at his sister. "You did not introduce Jorie."

"I should not have had to," Beth said, and the statement had the weight of Princess behind it. "Herr Böhmer should have dealt with me since I will be the one who pays for his work."

His sister then changed the discussion, an attempt to defuse Beth. "That drawing looked like a kind of chaise longue, but I've never seen one quite like it."

Apparently willing to let Katy distract her, Beth nodded. "I saw one in Paris. It's basically just a chair with a very long seat, but the rigidly upright back always looked as though it would be most uncomfortable. Most of the chaises I've seen are thickly padded to compensate, but given it's likely to be exposed to the elements, that seemed an unwise design. Herr Böhmer suggested oiled linen sail duck, if any can be had, as an upholstery to cover it." She shrugged. "We'll see what the man can accomplish."

James allowed Katy to reluctantly drag him into another shop. Luiza D'Oliviera's family owned this one. One of her uncles was a silver and goldsmith, and it was his shop into which Katy pulled him. Luiza stood in front of the counter Beth and his sister approached. She greeted them and smiled at James, who nodded. The two young women were interested in the jewelry, he realized, and exchanged a bemused look with Jorie, who obviously wished to look as well. It was the first time James had noticed a truly feminine instinct in Beth's sister.

As Luiza stepped around the counter to call for her uncle, James noticed Jorie joined her sister, and he stepped forward as well. Katy asked to see a pair of coral earrings set in silver, but he noticed Beth looked at the garnets and at a sapphire pendant. There were plenty of pearls, too, and a fine set of jet beads. There were also several silver pieces that had odd symbols and shapes.

"Amulets," Luiza said softly, and he realized she stood beside him. "My people wear them as symbols of faith."

Beth asked to see a string of pearls with an emerald pendant attached. She held it up, examined the silver setting and what appeared to be diamonds set around the emerald. It could be paste, he supposed, likely was given how trade had dried up from the most likely sources in the Caribbean. The necklace tied with a pair of black ribbons, and Beth asked Luiza's uncle if a different fastener was possible.

The man shrugged. "A box clasp, perhaps, but many women complain they're more difficult to close."

"What might be the price with that change?" she asked.

He named one several pounds beyond what James thought was the value. Beth handed back the necklace, told him it was too much given the quality, and named one substantially lower.

There was a glint in the man's eye that told James he was about to enjoy this, and James couldn't help but wonder if people often haggled with him. Beth clearly knew how the game was played, though, and after ten minutes, they struck a bargain. In the meantime, James had stepped aside with Katy who continued to look at the man's other wares. Once Beth had made arrangements for the necklace and changing the ribbons for a clasp, they prepared to leave. Luiza, with a smile, quickly whispered there were a pair of matching earrings before she suggested a price.

Glad the two women were finally finished, James was quiet on the way home. Luiza knew, he decided, and once more he wondered how many others did as well. Perhaps it would be wise to not be seen with Beth at all.

It didn't stop him from returning that afternoon, after talking to his rice agent, and buying the earrings that matched the necklace Beth had purchased.

-X-

At least dinner was only family. James was glad his mother seemed to have forgotten their argument the night before, and he noticed she and Beth seemed to like one another, which made him wonder what Temperance might have thought had he been the one who brought Beth home as a bride rather than Will.

He was also aware of time slowly counting down. Jorie had received a message from their colonel that afternoon, and they would leave Charles Town in the morning. As he sat and talked to his mother and Katy, James considered for a long moment resigning his commission, returning to Oak Point and keeping to himself, farming his land, selling his crops, and taking no position on the war. He'd take Beth with him without a single hesitation and over the objections of his mother, if necessary.

Then, he knew he wouldn't. As always, he'd honor the pledge he'd made when he chose to join the army.

Beth laughed at something Katy said, something James missed, and he considered the change in her relationship with his family, how they appeared friends now, how neither his mother nor his sister disparaged her for being foreign.

It was possible, though, that his mother had subjected Beth to the same remonstrance she had given him over their adultery despite their apparent rapport.

After dinner, James retired to his father's office to examine the accounts. He was glad he'd sent a considerable amount of money to a London bank where it would remain safe for them, but if the war dragged out much longer and if the markets for their crops remained difficult to access and depressed, then they would have to economize. Fortunately, neither his mother nor his sister spent profligately, so as long as they continued to live within their means, they would come out of the war in better shape than many others of whom he'd heard. With luck, Oak Point would survive as well, and James would consider himself fortunate if the house was only looted. His mother and Bess had packed and brought their portable wealth to Charles Town, after all, so there would be little left in the plantation's main house to take other than furniture and books.

As he finished a letter to authorize the sale of a small holding in Antigua he'd long wanted rid of and for which he had finally received a reasonable offer, Beth entered. She remained in the doorway until he'd finished sanding the paper and then set it aside to finish drying before folding and sealing the letter.

A soft smile lifted her lips, and when she stepped inside, she said softly, "Jorie says you leave tomorrow."

He stood, nodded. When she came closer, he stepped around the desk.

Beth stopped before him and met his eyes. "I shall miss you," she told him.

It wasn't what he had expected, especially since they hadn't really spent much time together, but he liked the idea that she would. He certainly missed her, as well as his mother and Katy. Bess's food, too, and sleeping in his own bed.

Hell, there were a lot of things he missed, but he thought Beth might be what he missed most. He caught her hands, considered offering to assist her with further experiments, but the truth was he would be fine if they did nothing but hold one another. He lifted her right hand, shifted his grip and kissed her palm. He let her other hand go and put his arm around her. "I shall miss you as well."

His lips had barely met hers when Bess cleared her throat from the doorway. He tightened his arm around Beth to keep her where she was. He looked across at the housekeeper and cook, hoped, for once, that Bess would not decide to berate him as his mother had the night before.

"There's a boy at the back of the house asking for you, Mr. James," she told him.

Unable to imagine who would come to the back rather than front entrance of the house, especially at this time of night, James considered whether to have Bess get Micah to send the boy away or to talk to him. In the end, curiosity won out. "I'll be there in a moment."

When she left, he bent, kissed Beth and told her to stay where she was.

He recognized one of Dan Scott's little brothers. The boy looked half starved, and Bess had given him something to eat. James thought his name was Jack, and he tried to remember how old the boy was—twelve? Thirteen? It couldn't be much more than that. He watched him wolf down the bowl of cornbread and beans, and wondered when the boy had last eaten. The Scotts lived outside Pembroke, dirt farmers with a small plot of land. His father used to say that the Scotts were better at growing children than crops, that they were a family of hotheaded crackers, stubborn as hell. Despite his exasperation with the Scott patriarch, James's own father had had a grudging admiration for the man, one James had shared since no one could dispute he was a hard worker and did his best by his family.

The boy didn't look up until he emptied the bowl. When he did, James straightened from where he had stood leaning against the door frame and dropped the arms he'd crossed over his chest while he waited. The room wasn't a proper kitchen—the cooking was done in the small brick kitchen behind the house—but it was the room where the food was brought and put into serving dishes before it was carried into the dining room and served to James and his family.

"You're Jack?"

The Scott boy nodded. He reached a grubby hand into his shirt and pulled out a letter. "Dan told me to give this to you."

James couldn't imagine why Dan Scott would write him, assuming the oldest of the Scott children could even write. After all, Dan was fighting with Martin and his militia, and the Wilkinses and the Scotts were hardly social equals or even friends. He took it, noticed it was as grubby as Jack's hands—if not more so. He broke the seal and opened it, surprised to realize it wasn't from the elder Scott.

It was from Will Cameron.

He told Bess to give the boy some food to take with him. James asked Jack, "Were you supposed to wait for an answer?"

"Nah," the boy drawled. "Just deliver it."

Rather than read it there, he thanked the boy and took it back to his office. Beth had taken a book from one of the shelves and settled on the settee. She looked up as he came in. James almost took it to the desk, but he was certain this was about Beth, so he sat beside her and opened the letter once more, read.

Once he had read the opening paragraph, it was all he could do not to wad it up and set it alight. Unfortunately, given the contents, he could not do so, despite the insult in both its content and its method of delivery. Will was sending a very definite message, and James could not afford to ignore it.

"James?"

It wasn't hard to hear the apprehension in Beth's voice, and James wondered how he had betrayed his anger. He sighed. "It's a letter from your husband."

"Will was here?"

Her fear was easy to hear. At least she wasn't pretending Will wasn't a threat. "No. He sent it with one of his fellow militiamen's brothers."

"What does he want?"

James shrugged and returned his attention to the letter. It had begun with accusations, stated that James had humiliated Honoria publicly and had seduced his wife. That it was true didn't make the charges any more palatable. That was followed by a challenge to a duel the following morning. He stared at the wall opposite and wondered why Will had chosen now to do so. He further considered his response.

There was no question he would accept. It was simply a matter of choosing a second and negotiating terms.

It was one thing to know he could defeat Will, but that was before the other man had a few month's seasoning in war. It was also possible what Will planned was nothing more than an ambush, and James considered carefully the risk not only to himself but to Beth and his family if he were unfortunate enough to lose.

"Where's Jorie?" he asked.

Beth's frustration wasn't hard to read. "With your mother and Katy," she said, a hard, cold edge to her voice, "assuming she hasn't retired for the evening."

He stood, but before he could go find the other woman, Beth caught and held his arm. He nearly shook her off, but her expression stopped him. She wasn't the kind of woman who would accept that she should just leave this to him. She was the kind of woman who would make James explain it to her, and then she'd have a lot to say about it. James, though, didn't have the time. He handed her Will's letter and said, "Stay here," before he freed his arm.

Jorie was, indeed, with Katy and Temperance in the front parlor. James asked her to join him, and then returned to the office on the opposite corner of the house. When he returned, Beth was on her feet and furious.

"You will not do this," she said. "You will not risk your life because of me."

Taking the letter from her and passing it to Jorie, James caught Beth's arms and steered her toward a corner of the room. "I don't have a choice here," he bit out softly.

"You do, but the one you appear hell-bent on making is the wrong one."

Despite thinking her beautiful when she was infuriated, James was not going to back down on this. Will had written that unless James faced him, he would see to it that all of Charles Town knew he'd refused to meet him. Not only that, he'd promised, he'd make sure that details of Beth's infidelities were broadcast—even if he had to take out an advertisement in Peter Timothy's _Gazette_. James snidely wondered if Will was simply being stubborn in not acknowledging that the treasonous Timothy had just been put aboard a prison ship headed for St. Augustine and that since the British occupied Charles Town, the loyalist Robert Wells ran the renamed _Royal Gazette_.

"You read that letter," James told her, "and if I don't do this, not only will it destroy my reputation in Charles Town, but he will do exactly what he says. Would you care to know what the advertisement is likely to say?" She flinched. "I'll wager he will purchase something that says he repudiates you, that he is not responsible for your debts, that you have been an unfaithful, possibly unwilling, wife, and that you have abandoned him. If he's in a particularly vicious mood, he will also state that you committed adultery—with me." He leaned down and added, "While it's no longer a capital crime, you will not like the punishment you will be subject to if he is believed."

"They would not dare!" she hissed.

"You're not a princess here," he reminded her sharply.

Her eyes narrowed. "And you will escape punishment?"

"No," he admitted, "but it's unlikely to be as severe as what you will face."

That had obviously been one step too far. She pulled roughly away.

"So this is simply about male vanity. You cannot back down from what men stupidly see as a dare that must be met, and you cannot face the idea that your friends and neighbors might learn you seduced your best friend's wife!"

Furious at her accusation, James gritted out, "I don't give a good goddamn about what my so-called friends and neighbors might think. As I told you last night—when _you_ seduced _me_, I might add—I do not intend to set you aside. As you pointed out, we will both pay the consequences of that, but we are not the only ones who will."

Only her sister's sharp, "Anna!" stopped whatever she had been about to say in response. They both turned to face Jorie, and James realized he had forgotten she was there. She held the letter up. "Much as you may wish it otherwise, Anna, James is right. He has to face Will—and it isn't about male pride. You cannot risk the possible consequences if he doesn't." Jorie looked at James then. "You'll need a second, and, if you're wise, you'll take more than that with you. Will Cameron is not to be trusted."

James frowned.

A sigh escaped Jorie. "While you were out on business this afternoon, I found myself acting as a chaperone to your sister and Tobias Henderson." She lifted a brow. "It seems that Will has decided that he wants Oak Point as reparation for our having burned the house at Hart's Crossing."

Hard anger burned in James, and not just because Will Cameron thought killing him would get him his property. "Toby discussed this in front of Katy?"

He'd murder the man.

Shaking her head, Jorie said, "No. I followed him out, and we struck up a conversation." She cocked her head. "I think he wanted to see to it that you didn't believe he was a party to this since his brother Michael, it seems, planted the idea." She shrugged then. "He never said it outright, but his meaning was pretty clear."

It wasn't at all clear to James, but before he could ask, Beth interjected, "No good can come of this."

"A very sizable lot of bad could, Anna," Jorie said with a sigh.

"I want to go with you."

Jorie beat him to a response. "Like hell!"

Beth stepped so that she was inches from her sister. "This has no good ending, Jorie, and you know it. One of them will be dead, rumors will run rampant, and I refuse to be the cause of that."

"You are already the cause, Beth." Jorie looked at James. "Rules ten and eleven apply, though Will has certainly violated the fifteenth rule." Her brows rose. "As your presumed second, I could use that last, most likely, to get you out of this with no harm."

"Rules?" Beth asked, obviously baffled.

"The Code Duello," her sister answered.

James felt heat rise and while reluctant to admit what he was about to, it would have to be said. "We don't always strictly follow the Code here." When Jorie's brows rose again, he added, "The major ones, yes. The others. . . ." He shrugged.

"Get him out of it," Beth ordered her sister.

"I told you not to make my decisions, Beth," James reminded her. He reinforced that with a hard look, and Beth, while obviously displeased, said no more. Turning back to Jorie, he made several quick decisions. "If you're willing, you'll be my second. We're limited in those on whom we can call for support, especially since I suspect you are right and several other men will accompany Will. Given Jack Scott delivered the message, the boy's brother Dan is certain to be one of them, and he's deadly with a gun. The rest will probably be taken from the others in Martin's militia."

"And here I thought Washington refused to let his officers duel since it could ruin military authority."

"They're militia," James reminded her dryly, "not the Continental Army, and I doubt they're officers."

"I'll find out who's in the city," Jorie said, "and choose some men who can be trusted." She stopped at the door. "Should I send a message saying you accept?"

"That's my job," James reminded her, though protocol required that Jorie deliver it. Given Will had violated protocol in how he delivered his challenge, James decided he would add to the insults already marked against him.

When she had gone, he crossed to the desk to do exactly that. As he reached for paper, he saw Beth still stood where she had been. He looked at her. She didn't appear angry, but the bitter, resigned look on her face was little better.

"Is there nothing I can say that will persuade you not to do this?" she asked softly.

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, James realized he could be entering a trap. Will had to know they would bring men from the Dragoons with them. He sat back in his chair and considered that further. Tavington and Martin had exchanged words, and he knew Martin had explicitly threatened his Colonel. It was entirely possible the man was tired of waiting for an opportunity in battle. Martin held Tavington responsible for his son Thomas's death, and while James admitted that had been badly done even though there was no question that Thomas had been in the wrong, had, in fact, acted rashly, the boy wasn't to know that he would die for his loyalty to his brother. Then again, Martin wasn't known for being particularly temperate by nature, and Colonel Tavington certainly wasn't. He had no intention of telling Beth that, though.

Instead, he simply said, "No."

As he watched her stiffen her spine and leave, he nearly called her back.

He read Will's note again, and then he carefully worded his response. The truth was, he could have refused all of this based on tradition—the note was to be delivered by Will's second, he could have refused to accept it since it was delivered by a child, he could refuse to accept the challenge because Will had not written as a gentlemen would but had been slanderously abusive in his missive, and he could refuse because Will did not name time or place or weapons.

James, though, welcomed the chance to settle this, and if he killed Will, he suspected he'd rest easy for that, especially given what he and the Camerons had done to Beth.

It would be left to someone else to decide whether he had done so to gain Beth's freedom to marry him or whether he had done so because, as he had once heard a man in a tavern say, "he just needed killing." The other possible interpretation was that James had murdered him.

Pausing a moment, James wondered if this falling out would have eventually happened even if Will had never married Beth. Then he wondered whether or not he was a gentleman himself because he certainly felt a strong desire to see his former friend buried.

Putting pen to paper, he wrote his response, used the formal, stylized format that was required by such situations—not that James had ever actually done this, but like many gentlemen he'd been taught the rudimentary rules and expectations. He summoned Micah, asked him to have one of the slaves deliver the letter to Will.

That task finished, James wrote two other letters: one to his lawyer, and one to his mother. Both detailed the disposition of his property should he lose. Finally, he wrote a third, this one the most difficult to pen. It was to Beth, and he haltingly wrote from the heart, told her how he felt for her, apologized for what he was doing, and then explained why he chose to do what he intended. He'd give them to Jorie to deliver if he lost, knew the woman would return them to him if he didn't.

Then he opened a deep drawer on the bottom right. He removed the leather bound case from within and set it on the desk's top. He opened the case and looked at the flintlock dueling pistols inside. They'd have to be cleaned, he thought, knew his father had never used them, nor had he—until now. He didn't trust Will to provide his weapon, knew that some supposed gentlemen loaded them with something other than a bullet to avoid being wounded or killed. While Will's letter asked for first blood to gain satisfaction for his grievance, James did not take comfort in that—a wound could easily cause his death—so he was not grateful Will hadn't demanded they fight to the death. Besides, dueling to first blood was generally considered unmanly. James figured he could survive that charge since he wasn't the one who set that condition.

When Jorie returned, he still sat at his desk cleaning the pistols. She sat in the chair opposite him. "Will has chosen Michael Henderson as his second."

James nodded, not surprised, and continued cleaning the pistol he held.

"I've found four men who will go with us to meet them."

Nodding once more, James remained focused on his task.

"Henderson appears willing to be reasonable here."

That brought James's head up. He focused on the woman across from him. "Hendersons are never reasonable. It's a defining trait of the breed."

She flashed him a quick grin. "I think this particular Henderson is playing a very particular role."

James cocked his head.

"Were you aware he's Will's lover?"

Stunned was his first reaction. On further reflection, James realized that he should have known, and as he recalled things from years past, it slotted into a kind of pattern that convinced him. "Not until now.

About to ask how she knew, Jorie told him. "I had a drink with him in some bordello called Perdita's to discuss matters. He finally admitted as much. In fact, he began by pre-emptively apologizing for having said some terrible things to Anna, apparently out of some notion I might know and call him out."

"He did more than say offensive things, Jorie," James growled, anger tinging his voice as he remembered that ball where Michael ran his hands over Beth in ways that had made James want to take an axe to them.

"So I'm told," she acknowledged, "but love's an interesting thing, James, and I think Michael genuinely loves Will Cameron."

James grunted and returned to cleaning the pistol he still held.

"I suspect, though, that Will is simply using him."

That was certainly true, James thought. Not at all interested in Will's love life, especially one that involved the most brutish of the Henderson's, he nonetheless asked, "What makes you say that?"

Jorie rubbed her forehead. "Michael wants to negotiate a way for Will to back down and save face."

It was one of the jobs of the second, James knew. They were supposed to be mediators first and support second. The idea was to let cooler heads prevail, and thinking of Beth's upset earlier, he was willing if it protected her and enabled him to save face as well. The problem was, there was nothing to prevent Will from later delivering on his threats, especially in James's absence.

"I don't see how," he admitted.

"Michael suggests that you turn up while he arranges for Will to oversleep or otherwise be delayed. After a reasonable lag, he and I call it off, admit there's no harm, and nothing more is said."

Shooting a skeptical look at Jorie, he asked, "What good would that do? He'd be labelled a coward."

Jorie shook her head, looked skeptical herself. "Michael figures that if we don't talk, Will certainly won't since it will be impossible to avoid looking like the cowardly dog he is. Michael will make sure someone vouches for an impediment to Will's arrival, promises to say you waited until you no longer could since we have to return to the Dragoons, and everyone simply lets it go." She shifted in her seat. "He also thinks with you gone again, not around to see the damage Will's allegations will make, he can get Will to keep his mouth shut about Anna."

"Why?" James sincerely doubted Will wouldn't manage to get a few digs in, especially since Helen and Honoria had already laid the foundation for such tales, and he was certain Beth's husband would see her as unprotected when James was gone. That worried him, because Will might also try to do something that would cause her real, bodily harm.

"Because, apparently, he's realized that Anna can expose them, and their sin is considered far worse than that of my sister's."

James set the cleaned pistol back in its case and looked at her. He didn't want to fight a duel that could result in his own death, but he couldn't be the one who backed down without the disgrace that would come from that. He was confident that in a fair fight he could best Will, but he wasn't sure it would prove to be a fair fight. Beth would also never forgive him. He gave a heavy sigh and gave in. "If you can do this in a way that does not bring dishonor to me or to Beth, then fine."

It hadn't been graciously said, but he didn't care.

"Leave to me, then," Jorie said and with a nod, she stood and left him there.

He decided it was time to retire. He'd have to meet Will at dawn, if the other man couldn't be persuaded not to show, which meant he'd get little sleep. Will had named Cow Alley, a popular dueling place, at least, so there wouldn't be that long a trip to the site.

His mother and sister had already retired for the night—a small blessing as far as James was concerned. When he reached his darkened room, he let himself inside and began stripping his clothes. About to climb into his bed, he realized someone was already there.

Beth was curled on her side, apparently asleep. A faint smile tipped his lips, and he decided that given she was asleep in his bed, it was unlikely she wished to begin the argument where it had left off. He climbed in with her, wrapped his body around hers, and when she stirred, pressed a kiss on her and suggested she go back to sleep.

Instead, she rolled to face him and said softly, "I do not like what you will do in the morning, James, but if you do not leave that spot safely, in one piece, I may never forgive you."

* * *

Author's Note:

I love the word _cracker_. I don't use it, especially since it's a pejorative, but there's something about that term that just always struck me as perfect given its meaning (and I'm a Southerner by birth and raising, so go figure). I was surprised, reading the history for this that during the Colonial period, it was used by wealthy white elites and by the British officers in dispatches. I couldn't resist.

Here's the applicable _Oxford English Dictionary_ entry example:

1766 G. Cochrane _Let._ 27 June (D.A.), I should explain to your Lordship what is meant by Crackers; a name they have got from being great boasters; they are a lawless set of rascalls on the frontiers of Virginia, Maryland, the Carolinas and Georgia, who often change their places of abode.

Thus endeth the language lesson.

Rules 10 and 11 and 15 of the Code Duello.:

**Rule 10.**Any insult to a lady under a gentleman's care or protection to be considered as, by one degree, a greater offense than if given to the gentleman personally, and to be regulated accordingly.

**Rule 11.** Offenses originating or accruing from the support of ladies' reputations, to be considered as less unjustifiable than any others of the same class, and as admitting of slighter apologies by the aggressor: this to be determined by the circumstances of the case, but always favorable to the lady.

**Rule 15.**Challenges are never to be delivered at night, unless the party to be challenged intend leaving the place of offense before morning; for it is desirable to avoid all hot-headed proceedings.


	19. Chapter 19

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 19**

"Have you considered that if I am dead, it won't matter that you haven't forgiven me?"

In the dark, he imagined Beth narrowed her eyes. "This is not a subject about which it is appropriate to jest, James."

No, it really wasn't, he knew, but it was better than the alternative. He gathered her closer and agreed.

"Since I obviously cannot stop this," she continued, "I shall have to accept it, but it does not make me happy, and I am still angry with you for agreeing to meet Will."

Her voice wasn't angry, unlike earlier, but he took her at her word. There was a temptation to remind her of the possibilities if he were successful against his former friend, but, truthfully, he worried about the consequences of such hubris. There was always the chance that his pistol would misfire, if it came to that, and there was always the chance that Will's aim would be faulty and James would be killed rather than wounded. He didn't want to think about the idea that Will would shoot to kill rather than aim for first blood as he had stipulated.

Instead, he asked softly, "And how might I win back your favor?"

Her arms moved from around him, and her hand came up to rest against his cheek. She moved that much closer to him and kissed him. If he wasn't going to sleep—and he had suspected as he climbed the stairs that he would not, though admittedly for other reasons—there were much more pleasant ways to mark the time than staring into the dark shadows of his room and worrying about whether Will would kill him or not.

Curious what Beth might do, curious what else those drawings in that manuscript she had described might inspire her to do, he remained mostly passive, responded to her lips and tongue, but let her take the lead in this particular dance.

James wasn't bothered by the fact that she stuck to movements with which he was familiar, content to simply have her there and more than willing. After all, she could have hidden away in whatever room his mother had assigned to her and refused to see or speak to him at all. He might not have had an opportunity to speak to her again, to get himself into her good graces again. He wasn't foolish enough not to think she would approve his actions in the morning given how strongly she had voiced her displeasure and had just reminded him of them, but he would rather they didn't part angry.

After all, if he was going to die, he liked the idea of spending his last night enjoying her.

Not that he planned to die.

One thing of which he was certain was that if one of them was buried afterward, it was going to be Will. As he rolled Beth onto her back, he remembered something he had read about chivalry when he was a child. Dueling arose out of the old chivalric traditions where knights battled against one another in single combat to settle the matter of right. They believed the victor won because he was the one on the side of right morally, not because he was necessarily the better combatant. His mother had repeatedly reminded him that what he was doing with Beth was morally wrong, defied God.

He was still certain he would be the victor, morally in the right or not.

As he slid inside Beth, James thought the pleasure he found with her was more than worth the risk.

They spent the night alternately talking of things that avoided another argument, touching one another, and making love. James nearly asked if she would marry him as soon as decency allowed if Will died. The one thing that stopped him was that it might be taking that one step too very far over the line they'd already crossed, not to mention crass given she was still married to Will, willingly or not. It occurred to him that perhaps he did, after all, believe even a little bit that he might well be punished for this in the morning.

At one point, Beth softly asked, "Have you not considered that by simply meeting Will you are tacitly agreeing that you have done him the wrongs with which you are accused?"

As a woman, she didn't understand the ideas of honor and the code by which gentlemen must conduct themselves, or she would not have asked that. He considered how best to explain, finally settled on, "The point is to deny them and prove I'm right because I win."

"No, James." The sadness in her voice was unbearable. "You give them credence by agreeing to do this. If there's to be a scandal, it will be fueled by the fact that you met Will for a duel, and it will not matter at all that you win—if you win. The stories become that much more compelling regardless of which one of you is victorious."

Duels, he knew, always caused gossip. Someone always talked, and for the first time, it dawned on him that Helen and Honoria would have even more salacious stories to spread if James won. They could claim he killed Will to take his wife, and since James would marry Beth despite any gossip or any protests from his family or Will's, it would be easy for many people to believe them to be true. Even if Will were still alive, there was nothing to keep them or him from spreading tales, either. After all, Will would have yet another grievance to air. Even if the Camerons chose to be silent, there was still Michael Henderson and whomever else they brought with them. There were also any witnesses who might happen upon them, and there were the Dragoons Jorie had drafted.

"It's too late to back out now," James told her, and it was. There was only an hour or so before he would have to leave her.

She once more settled her body closer against his, tightened her arms around him. "I know." Then, her mouth began to nibble kisses on his face, and her hands began to trace his body. James couldn't exactly say he submitted, but he certainly reciprocated, and afterward, he realized the mess he'd made of things by not simply allowing protocol to rule.

When Jorie rapped softly on his door, said only loud enough they could hear her through it that Caleb was coming with water and his clean uniform in a few minutes, James kissed Beth and reluctantly let her slide from his bed. As she put her nightclothes back on, he pulled on a gold silk banyan and crossed to his dressing table to open one of the drawers so he could withdraw the small package inside.

He caught Beth before she could slip out the door, pressed another kiss on her, and handed her the paper package with the earrings he'd bought the day before inside. "I'd planned to give them to you another time," he told her softly.

Her smile wobbled, but she took his shoulder and pulled him so she could rock up to kiss him back. "Come home unharmed," she said quietly and slipped out his door after a tight hug and a, "Thank you," whispered in his ear.

-X-

As they mounted their horses, Jorie grinned. Bess had refused to speak as she slammed dishes of food on the table in front of them, a sure sign that someone had told her where he was going and why. She'd silently insisted they eat at the same table where she had fed Jack Scott the night before. She fed them cornmeal mush and biscuits out of the same chipped redware she had given young Jack, which told James more about her displeasure than words would have.

Grateful she had not told his mother, since Temperance Wilkins had not put in an appearance—and she would have if she had known, if for no other reason than to berate him for even considering such foolishness—he accepted what others would have punished as insolence. He was a little amused that for once she was not going to tell him what he should or, in this case, should not do. Nor, apparently, was she going to verbally reprimand him as she often did. He figured that was due to Jorie's presence. Bess never overstepped the bounds in front on anyone but family. He supposed he could take her method of serving and her choice of foodstuffs as making a slight exception, and it certainly made her disapproval of his intent clear.

They met the others a few blocks from the alley where they were to meet Will. James was surprised to see Bordon, Tavington's most trusted captain with them. Bordon shrugged, told him, "Colonel's orders," and James wondered what Jorie had told their commandant.

Leaving their horses with a private who had come as well, they stepped into the alley. To James's dismay, Will had decided to turn up after all.

"Don't say anything except what's required," Jorie told him. "Let me do what I'm supposed to, and don't let either of them goad you into doing something foolish."

As he watched the woman greet Michael Henderson, who had stepped forward, James noted that Will had also brought Dan Scott as he had expected. The three others included a man who appeared to be a slave, and James wondered to whom he belonged. He nodded to the ones he knew, and waited while the formalities were carried out. Will was not required to state his grievances, and James had assumed that because women were involved, he would follow tradition and choose not to do so, but he turned out to be mistaken. At least Will began with Honoria, though he let Michael make the accusation.

James eyed the larger man, wondered if he'd shoot him if Will didn't.

"You publicly insulted Miss Honoria Cameron."

Ignoring Will for the moment, James figured he could give on this one, though he would not apologize for, essentially, calling her a liar in public. "I regret that I did not moderate my tone and that others heard what I said."

Henderson was obviously well aware of James's strategy, though he apparently was sympathetic from his expression and the twitch of his lips. He suspected he'd been one of Honoria's victims on many occasions, just as most of the men in their parish had been. Will opened his mouth to protest, but Michael spread a huge hand on his chest, and, to James's surprise, Will closed his mouth and left whatever he wished to say unsaid. Michael kept his eyes on James as he said to Will, "I believe that is an acceptable apology, and that you might consider the matter of the slight to Honoria resolved."

Perhaps it was because not a soul present that night or those present this morning who knew her likely had believed James's taunt untrue, but Will backed down. He was clearly not happy about it, though. He gave Michael a curt nod, and the other man removed his hand from his chest. Will's jaw was tightly clenched, and James could read the hatred in his eyes. That saddened him, especially because he suddenly recalled the firm fastness of their friendship before the other man brought Beth to South Carolina.

"As to the matter of Will's wife," Michael began, and James's eyes narrowed on him. If he dared accuse them of adultery, James would have no choice in what was done here.

Ignoring Jorie's instruction, he bit out, "I do not believe Will would like that matter discussed in the open, especially not any countercharges her brother the Prince and I might be able to mount and prove."

That set the larger man back. James wondered if he had truly believed he would stand there and let them say what they wished about Beth without defending her and exposing the two of them. From Will's expression, he suspected they had.

"What my friend means," Jorie said smoothly, and she shot James a look of irritation, "is that there is more than one way to interpret the events that led to Anna-Elizabeth seeking sanctuary with the Wilkins family. Given the events that resulted in Temperance Wilkins offering her a home, we concede there is plenty of blame to be shared, even beyond those currently present." She lifted a brow and settled her gaze on Will, who blanched. "I believe that it is sufficient to say that you are not happy your wife, my sister, has chosen to leave your family for safety with a neighbor against whom you have a grudge. The question before us is whether or not any apologies James might wish to offer would satisfy you or whether we should simply see which of you is the better man."

James noticed she managed to say that in such a way that James appeared to have no role in Beth's decision. In truth, it hadn't been Beth's decision at all. James and Jorie had, essentially, decided for her when they took her from Hart's Crossing to Oak Point. She had remained in his home, though, and that was her choice. He had to bite back a grin, knew that even if he had to fight Will and lost, she would not voluntarily return to the Camerons—if she returned at all.

Perhaps it might be best, he thought, if she did take ship with her cousin when _The Delilah_ returned to Charles Town. She would be out of reach of Will and his family, and the gossip would die down.

There would be a hole inside him, though, if she did so, and he doubted it would ever fill again if she left never to return.

"My wife," and Will emphasized the words, "is to be returned to me. Give me that and James's very specific apologies, and we can end this here."

James gritted his teeth. He would not stand here and admit adultery publicly, limited public that was present notwithstanding, though he relaxed his jaw as he realized that if he did so, he could simply explain that Beth had allowed him to seduce her because her husband preferred the big man standing beside him. A little smile curled his lips, and he asked, "How specific would you like me to be, Will? Context is so important to this particular matter, and I'd be happy to explain that in detail."

Before Will could hotly respond, Michael jumped in. "I think there's no need for specifics here."

Once again, before Will could protest, Michael leaned in and whispered something that made Will turn a cold, blue gaze on James. "Do you have any idea of the harm you would cause?"

James grinned. "More to you than to me."

They stared at one another, and James decided then that he needed to find someone to protect the unguarded women he and Jorie would leave behind when they rejoined the Dragoons. He would not risk Will deciding that with them gone Beth—or Katy or James's mother—were easy targets for whatever he and his mother had in mind. James was increasingly certain Helen Cameron's was the guiding hand in much of this particular debacle.

He decided on another tactic, decided sacrificing a pawn might buy safety for the women about whom he cared. He gathered his thoughts, reworded them so he would not give further offense or admit anything that would inflame Will. It could, though, be seen as rubbing salt in Will's wound since he would essentially shift possible blame onto Beth. It wasn't very gentlemanly of him, but it was the least offensive thing he could say given the circumstances. That it was, in part, true, made James feel safe in it, since he knew Beth would not object were she to learn what he was about to offer as recompense.

"I tell you what, Will. I will concede that I took your wife to Oak Point so that she might safely recover from a grave illness. I further concede that I have allowed your wife to live with my mother and sister after she recuperated from that illness despite the fact that she should have returned to you and your family when she had done so. I also concede that I have agreed with my mother that she may stay with them as long as she chooses, and as compensation for any embarrassment her choice has given your family, I will agree to have her return the land your father left her in his will to you."

Beth didn't want the land, he knew, considered it a nuisance, and it had provided some danger to her. It was a small sacrifice and one Beth could afford.

"You stole my wife from me," Will bit out hotly, and Jorie cut him off before he could continue, make accusations that meant they would have to shoot one another after all.

"Do you really wish us to betray the actual circumstances of Anna's illness? Do you truly wish to face me for the mistreatment your family made her suffer?"

"Are you challenging me?" Will demanded incredulously, and James wondered for a moment whether he knew she was actually a woman and took insult from that.

Michael dragged him a few steps away to whisper furiously in Will's ear once more. James turned to Jorie, studied her, and noticed the deep anger in her face. He was surprised by the strength of her temper. She'd always appeared unnaturally calm, particularly in moments like this, so to hear the angry, snapping hiss of her voice had been a revelation. "Don't answer that," he told her softly, "though I'll stand as your second if it comes to that."

"You have to settle your grievance first," she reminded him curtly, "and that rather makes any challenge from me redundant—unless the imbecile can be persuaded to back down from having a go at you."

"Let's see if we can get out of this without harm," James said, thinking of Beth's earlier words and realizing that Jorie's threat had certainly laid doubt about Will's claims in the men arrayed behind him. It was easy to read Dan Scott's skepticism, and the others looked equally doubtful as they watched Michael and Will softly and angrily debate.

Will stepped over to them, and a deep red flush covered his face. Those pale blue eyes of his snapped, and so did his voice as he bit out, "I will accept your acknowledgement of fault, James, but you are to have the deed for Anna-Elizabeth's land to me within two hours. If you leave Charles Town before doing so, I will hunt you down."

He should have curbed it, but James let a mocking smile lift his lips. Will was not going to make him meet him on the field, so to speak, after all, and James found he was both relieved and disappointed by that. He had not, exactly, admitted fault or apologized, but he was not going to point that out to Will or to Michael Henderson. Then, remembering the challenge between Martin and Tavington not long ago about seeing the other dead before the war ended, he rashly said, "Done, but you will have no need to hunt me down, Will. You'll have the deed as soon as possible. You should know, though, that I fully intend to take advantage of any time we meet in battle from this point forward. You'd best shoot first if you see me because I will damn well shoot you if the opportunity arises."

"Murder?" Michael asked incredulously.

James shook his head. "I'll simply have shot yet another traitor fighting against soldiers lawfully subduing a rebellion."

-X-

After Bordon and the other Dragoons declined his invitation to breakfast, James and Jorie made their way back to his home.

"I didn't expect him to back down like that," she told him. "When I saw him there, I figured he'd take his chance."

James had been mulling that over as well. "I think that since he obviously cares nothing about Beth, what he was truly after was the land." He sighed. "And I just offered it right up to him."

"Perhaps they'll sell and leave you and Anna be," she added.

"Perhaps." He knew better. Will had just lost credibility with his fellow militia, and when he realized that, he most likely would renew his efforts to slander James and Beth as well as renew his efforts to get her back.

Temperance Wilkins wrapped James in a tight hug when they entered the house, and then she tore into him. He listened, but mostly he just watched her. His mother wasn't as tiny as Beth, but she wasn't a tall woman, either, something he often forgot given the force of her personality—and temper. James's father used to say she would have been better named had her parents stopped after the first two syllables, but James knew her current railing was driven from relief. He couldn't help but wonder who had finally told her where he had gone and for what he had gone.

When she finally wound down and ordered him and Jorie into the dining room, he told her, "I have a matter to see to first, and I shall need Beth to complete it."

For a moment he could read her expression and knew she thought he was going to drag Beth upstairs and do the kinds of things she had told him endangered his immortal soul.

Jorie said, "I'll get Anna," and left him to explain.

"In order to get Will to back down, I had to agree to return the land Robert Cameron bequeathed Beth. She'll have to sign the documents along with me."

"So you're going to allow Helen Cameron to win," she snapped.

That stopped him in his tracks. "No, I'm protecting Beth's reputation. She doesn't want the land, and if it gets the Camerons to leave you all alone, then it's a very small sacrifice."

His mother folded her arms beneath her ample bosom. "I did not raise a fool, James, but you just played into their hands. I'd far rather you had shot that craven, unnatural boy than given Helen Cameron what she wanted."

Shocked, James wondered if that was some sort of response to fear for him or if she truly believed he had done the wrong thing. "If I'd shot him," James told her, "it wouldn't have ended. This should, with any luck, finish it. They tried to kill Beth for that property, and with it, they may well simply let her be." He grimaced. "Besides, you might well have found yourself preparing my body for burial at this moment instead of calling me a fool."

Beth halted in the doorway to the dining room at his words. He wondered how much of that she'd heard and what she thought to cause the color to leave her face, for her to look so anxious. He beckoned to her and told his mother, "We'll join you in a few moments."

Settling his hand in the small of her back, he guided Beth back to the room where he conducted business and sat her on the settee. He took her hand when he joined her and explained what he had agreed to do. She watched his face and nodded. "I shouldn't have proposed it without your knowledge," he added, regretted she had no choice in the matter.

"If it brings some peace to us all, I am perfectly willing to sign it over. You and I both know I would never be able to do with it what Robert wished, so they might as well have it back." Then, she turned more fully to him and put her arms around him. "It's a small price to pay to have you back unharmed."

Though, he disagreed, James was wise enough not to say so. He couldn't help but wonder if he felt that way because he wanted to punish Will or because the land would have provided Beth with the means to live after the war without her husband. He didn't like that it allowed the Camerons to have what they wanted at Beth's expense, so perhaps that was simply what troubled him. He further worried that it might simply encourage them to ask for even more, threaten Beth if they didn't get it because he was certain Will now knew James was weak where she was concerned.

Setting those thoughts aside when she kissed him, he pulled her into his lap, well aware it would be the last private moment they would have before he departed. While he would have liked to take full advantage of that privacy, there was no time. When they ended the kiss, he told her, "I expect you to take care when I am gone." She was about to protest, so he stopped her by kissing her again. "Do not go out alone, do not accept invitations that do not include my mother and Katy, and do not even sit in the garden or folly without someone knowing you are there and watching."

Her brows rose. "I will not be a prisoner, James."

"I don't expect you to be, but I don't trust the Camerons." She studied him a moment and then nodded. "Now, let's do what's necessary before Will and Michael Henderson break down my door insisting I've not done as promised."

While he wrote out the transfer of property agreement and signed it, he wondered if he should notify his lawyer, let the man do this for him. As he finished, he decided it was probably best to not involve outsiders who might ask questions he shouldn't answer. When the ink had been sanded and dried, he called Beth over and handed her the pen. She signed her name with a flourish, and then James signed as well. For a moment, he wanted to renege on the agreement he'd made with Will. It was prime land, and it adjoined Oak Point. On the other hand, buying peace—if it did guarantee peace—with the Camerons was more important, especially since James would be miles away.

As he folded the document and addressed it for delivery, he hoped against hope this would end here. Unfortunately, he couldn't help feeling it would likely make no difference. He had come to realize that with the death of Robert Cameron the rest of the family made no effort to hide the cruelty and avarice that had, apparently, lain mostly dormant while the elder Cameron had been alive. With the land out of the equation, the only other thing they could use against him was Beth, and that simply increased her danger.

He looked at Beth as he stood. For a moment, he thought she understood, but then she said, "I have no need for the land, though I acknowledge it would have made a nice marriage portion to bring to you were we ever able to do so."

There was a thickness in James's throat at her words, especially since there was clear regret on her face. "I would need nothing but you, Beth," he told her, and he meant it. He could care less what she had or didn't have.

Her smile wobbled, and he was about to add that she should take ship with her cousin if she still wished to and could. It would kill him to know he would likely never see her again, but he'd rather know she still lived than have the unthinkable happen. "That's a lovely thought," she said, "but had it been possible, I conveniently have a fortune I could have brought you."

Money didn't matter; he had enough of his own, but he didn't want to talk about what would likely never be, so he distracted her by suggesting they join the others before there was no breakfast to be had. He escorted her there, found Micah and asked that he have someone take the paper he and Beth had signed to Will Cameron, and then joined his family and Jorie for his second breakfast of the day. This one came on china and included eggs and bacon, coffee, too, which given that he had had no sleep the night before was more than welcome.

Jorie and Beth absented themselves for the last hour before he must leave, and James spent it with his mother and sister. They kept the conversation light, and he was glad his mother had set aside her earlier anger. She followed him upstairs when he went to get his things, and he told her just as he had Beth to take care, that he wasn't at all certain this would be the end of things. He suggested they make sure Micah or one of their men accompanied them when they left the house, and his mother nodded, agreed to do so.

She looked at him when he finished and told him, "You must take care as well, James. Take no risks that mean you do not come home alive."

Tempted to remind her he would return to war, instead he simply told her he would do his best. He meant what he had told Will, though. If he saw him, he would kill him. He had no illusions that Will would not do the same.

Katy waited at the foot of the stairs, hugged him, kissed his cheek and told him to be careful. He hugged her back, kissed her back, and promised he would be.

He thought for a moment Beth wouldn't come to say goodbye, but then he saw her. He crossed the entryway to where she stood and gathered her close. He'd decided he would no longer hold with appearances except outside the family. Her arms went around him and held him for as long as he held her. He kissed her, but found he couldn't say any of the words he wished to give her. She seemed to feel the same, simply gave him a crumpled smile and then turned to the stairs and began to ascend them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 20**

The ride to join the rest of the Dragoons gave James plenty of time to think. Tavington, it seemed, had used his visit to gather information on Benjamin Martin and his men from loyalists in Charles Town. Tavington was angry that he hadn't been able to get more specific information than he had. Instead, he'd only managed to compile a list of Martin's probable compatriots. James still held that Martin and his men had made their choice and would have to pay the consequences for that choice, so he was untroubled by the fact that their names were on a sheet of paper in Tavington's bags. It was, after all, more than reasonable to force them to pay for their treason, but he'd had a taste at Charlotte Selton's plantation of the means that payment might take. It was that part that didn't sit well with him.

James was fine with killing men in battle, and he was fine with the fair execution of a traitor. He was not at all fine with punishing their families who were doing nothing more than trying to survive until the war was over. Generally speaking, women and children were not actively taking arms against the King, and it was simply wrong, in his view, to target them in ways often more savage than the army used against their husbands, sons, and brothers who had joined the Continentals or the various militias.

In all honesty, Tavington was obsessed with Martin, and James wasn't clear about why. The man had certainly bested him many times, but that didn't merit the level of hatred Tavington felt for him. Martin could be irritating, it was true, and the man had a temper, especially when he drank, but James figured running the man to ground and having it out in battle was the better part of valor. His colonel clearly didn't see it that way.

To be fair, Martin knew every inch of his patch of South Carolina, and that gave him an advantage the English would never have. The man knew every place he could hide or lose his enemy, knew every friendly farm and town, and the fact that Tavington couldn't corner the man was driving the Colonel to increasingly sadistic behavior, behavior James wanted no part of since he would have to live with any of the survivors who chose to remain after the war was over.

He'd meant what he'd said when he was introduced to Tavington: his neighbors who raised arms against the King deserved to die traitors' deaths, but he hadn't meant their wives and children, at least not those who were simply trying to mind their own business and survive.

Admittedly, some of the men who had taken arms against the King had children and wives who had metaphorically, at least, done so as well, but James wasn't sure the kinds of punishment Tavington had proven capable of meting out were the appropriate response to the families of the men they sought. He'd heard what Colonel Tavington was being called—The Butcher—and he'd seen enough to know it might well be a fitting name. He simply wished the man might moderate his behavior, might not be driven by temper to the extent to which he apparently was.

That night Jorie and he, as they often did, sat away from the others and ate.

"You're brooding again," Jorie observed as she focused on her plate.

James simply grunted.

"Something tells me it isn't my sister who has you in this mood."

That brought his eyes to hers, and he watched her thoughtfully. He'd had the impression a time or two that she had more than a passing interest in their colonel. He admitted, though, that if she did, there was no easy way for her to do something about that interest while she had to maintain the façade that she was a man. He nearly asked if it was so, mainly because he wondered why a woman might care for a man with the kind of deeply cruel streak he'd seen in Tavington. He was curious whether a woman could completely ignore a man's inhumane actions against other men, whether she might be able to separate those actions from the person who would not normally do such things. Mainly he wondered because he was increasingly afraid that before this was over, he might have to ask Beth to forgive something unforgivable—even if it was merely by association.

"Is there a line beyond which a soldier will not go?"

That hadn't been the question he meant to ask, James acknowledged, but he let it stand, watched as Jorie gave it thought before she answered. Her brow furrowed, and she set her fork on her plate, chewed her lower lip as she stared into the distance.

"Mind if I ask why you raise that question?"

His eyes found Tavington where the man stood talking to Bordon across the camp. "I think the Colonel may have very few boundaries he will not cross in order to win."

"I think you may well be right," she said, a thoughtful note in her soft voice. When he looked at her, she studied Tavington. "He's one of those men who believe in winning at all costs, in all-out war. There are some," she acknowledged, "who think that you cannot simply defeat the enemy's soldiers, that you must cut off any means of support they may have in order to make sure they do not take up arms again—assuming they survive—and that you must utterly destroy them and what they have." She shrugged. "They believe that even if you don't kill the enemy, they must be left with nothing but their lives when it is finished so that they have suitably paid for the bother they have caused."

There was an edge to her voice as she said that. "You sound as though you might approve of that yourself."

"When I think about St. Cecilia's," she said, and James remembered the story she had told him about what had happened to Beth there, "then I think there is no punishment too harsh, but generally speaking, war must eventually end, and if an army has destroyed the ability for those who survive it—winners and losers—to at least coexist, then there will never be peace." She studied him a moment. "That kind of brutality leads to more private warfare among those left trying to pick up their lives."

She sat her plate on the grass between them. "You do understand, James, that Colonel Tavington has escalated his punishment of the noncombatants because they protect Martin and his men. If they don't protect them, they remain neutral." Her eyes were troubled when they met his, and he wondered if she worried on his behalf or on her sister's. "I've heard this and the war previous to this referred to as a civil war, and certainly there are brothers and friends fighting one another all over, but do you really understand what the end result of all this will be?"

James frowned at her. "The King will win, England will continue to rule, and, with luck, they will allow us a kind of home rule so that the rabble don't rebel again."

Even as he said it, he recognized the lie. He still thought the English would win, but he suspected the King and his men across the sea would simply ratchet down control of their wayward colonies.

"No, James," she told him softly. "That isn't at all what will happen. If the King's army prevails, there will, eventually be another war—and perhaps another. Martin may be out for some revenge for his son and his property, but the others . . . ." She shook her head, sighed. "There will be no easy peace here, James. I've watched your neighbors use war to settle petty rivalries and slights." Her eyes narrowed. "You plan to do much the same if you meet Will in battle, though I admit I'm on your side in that for what he did to my sister. That doesn't diminish the fact that while Tavington and Tarleton of the British Legion might be the lightning rods, when they're gone, the lightning strikes will spill over onto anyone who wore the uniform."

About to deny that, he thought about what could happen when he returned to Oak Point and the Camerons to Hart's Crossing. He considered what life might be like living on a property next to that owned by people he had learned to hate with a passion that both wounded and drove him. He further thought about his intent to ask Beth to live there with him, next to her in-laws who had mistreated her, and he considered the animosity they would have to endure were she to agree. He was willing to let it all go, willing to set it all aside and simply live quietly next to one another provided the Camerons did as well. Oak Point was his home, and he fully intended to return there to the life he'd interrupted for the war.

If the Camerons did return, rebuilt, but could not do the same, James wasn't sure where his own boundaries might turn out to be.

"You do realize, James, that even if we are the victors, in order to remain in South Carolina, you will have to live among people who will still look for a way to throw off their obligations to your King, don't you?"

Jorie's soft question gave him more about which to think. He knew that representatives of those who had remained loyal to the King had sworn to various members of the British government that if the army would simply come to South Carolina, many would flock to the cause. That had proven not to be true. Many of the people on whom the loyalist leaders had depended had turned out to not feel much loyalty to the Crown at all, and even among the planters, their certain belief that they could best decide for themselves how to live and govern, their desire to be their own masters had led many of them to the rebel cause. There had been far fewer like James, who believed in allegiance to King and country, and far more like Martin, despite the contrary opinion the man had espoused years earlier in the Assembly.

The English were winning battles in the south, though, which was more than could be said for the army in the north, and it was possible the tide would turn as men like Banastre Tarleton and William Tavington fought their way through the back country. James had met Patrick Ferguson, the affable Scottish major who was cutting his way through the riffraff that had settled the wilderness. There were others as well who were determined to see that the Carolinas, at least, remained in the King's hands.

That left James with many questions, several of which he should probably have considered before joining the Dragoons, not the least of which was whether or not he and his neighbors and friends could put the war behind them and carry on with their lives when the fighting was done.

-X-

It took a couple of weeks to figure out that Tavington didn't trust him. Sometimes it was as subtle as looking at James as though the Colonel suspected he'd climbed out from under a rock. Other times, it was in the sneer the man directed his way when he had to speak to him. Because the man could be an arrogant ass to just about everyone, James wondered if he was imagining it, so he asked Jorie.

The young woman looked startled by the idea, but then she frowned and considered his question. Finally, she said, "You know his low opinion of colonials, and you're about the only one we still have who's native to these parts." She shrugged, added after a moment, "He probably wonders if your loyalty should be questioned given so many South Carolinians seem to switch sides depending on which direction the wind blows."

While it was an accurate evaluation of many of his neighbors' changeable loyalties, James chafed. He'd done whatever the King's army demanded of him without questioning it, and he certainly hadn't betrayed the Dragoons' plans to the enemy—though he knew there were those who had. Once given, James honored his oaths, and he had not betrayed his commander or his King, nor would he. It angered him that the Colonel might consider him as perfidious as the others.

It shouldn't have surprised him, then, when Colonel Tavington kept James with him, Bordon, and a few other trusted officers before sending the rest of their party with Jorie and many of the foot soldiers after they had captured several of Martin's men.

What did surprise him was what Tavington and Bordon set about doing to the men they caught.

James stayed, did his best to mask his horror and disgust at the torture they inflicted. He was determined to earn the Colonel's trust, but it wasn't easy to pretend a nonchalance he didn't feel as man after man was maimed and mutilated. James found it odd that he could now manage to get through a bloody skirmish or battle without wanting to empty his guts, but watching them cut bits off someone—thankfully, no one he actually knew—made him feel sick and lightheaded. This wasn't what he had signed on for, and he supposed he ought to be grateful he didn't have to actually participate in it. Watching was certainly no pleasure, either, and James wondered why this method appealed to his commandant.

As they tormented the fifth man, James realized they weren't getting useful information.

He pointed that out to Tavington when their current rebel writhing on the plain dining table of the small cabin told an obvious lie. Tavington had stared at him with that icy gaze of his and demanded to know how James knew it was a lie. He'd explained, and then, stupidly, added, "Most of what they're telling you isn't true—it's just to make you stop."

If he hadn't decided to be helpful, he thought derisively, he might have been able to escape. Instead, he was told to remain and expose the lies while Tavington and Bordon got on with their work.

After a while, James realized that he didn't have to watch, which made things moderately easier. All he really needed to do was listen. He took an abnormal interest in the plates on the rail behind where Bordon stood at the table's head. There was a decent painting of some generic wooded glen on the wall to the right that gave him something on which he could focus instead of the poor soul on the plank table. Given the herbs and other plants hanging to dry from the ceiling, he wondered about the woman of the house—because he was certain there had been one. He entertained himself imagining what task had called her away because he didn't want to think that one of his fellow officers might have shot her—or worse.

He had never really given thought to how the mind worked—though he had a time or two considered that it did. Work, that was, because as the body on the table was exchanged for a live one, he wondered how Tavington and Bordon managed to keep the blood off them. So far they had only managed to open an artery once, and Bordon had quickly shot out of the way of the sudden, pulsing spray of blood. James was just glad he could take up a position near the door where he at least got some fresh air rather than the stink of blood and other, more noxious scents the tortured men eliminated.

When Tavington finally called for a break, he asked James to accompany him. Bordon remained behind with the most recent victim still moaning and twitching on the table. Tavington told the man to consider whether or not he wished to live while he got some air.

James followed the Colonel into the field outside, watched him examine the plants growing there. He found it odd the man could be so gentle touching the plants and so brutal in what he did in that cabin behind them. His relief at being out of that cabin nearly had him asking, but James would prefer not to draw the man's notice if he could help it. Tavington was increasingly erratic, and James fully intended to survive this with everything intact—including his life.

While the man looked about him, James wondered yet again what he'd managed to get himself into. He'd known fear, but this was different, and it struck him that he shouldn't fear the man he was, essentially, forced to follow. After what he'd seen the man do, he'd be a fool not to, though.

Once more he considered resigning his commission, going back to Charles Town and keeping his head down and his mouth sealed tightly shut. He had a feeling, though, Tavington would consider him a deserter and a possible spy, and the next time the man swung by Oak Point, he'd likely burn it to the ground for what he'd see as James's betrayal.

James acknowledged that he was stuck, but he didn't much like it.

"Beautiful country," Tavington said. James didn't take it as a compliment. South Carolina was beautiful, but he didn't think his Colonel truly appreciated that. "Everything grows here."

Although many things did, particularly in the low country where the climate was normally unusually mild, James could have told the man that it really didn't. There had been a number of failed experiments before the planters settled on rice. Indigo hadn't been easy, though they had finally managed it, but sugar and some other crops many of the planter families had easily grown in the West Indies hadn't made the transition to this colony, and in the early days, money had been made on cattle and lumber. He was tempted to tell Tavington that, but he chose to remain silent instead, figured the man didn't really care and that it would be best not to draw his attention.

The taut silence was punctuated by a weak scream from the cabin that still managed to carry to them. James steeled himself to return, hoped the man died before they got there and then wondered if he should hope such things. Tavington's disgusted sigh convinced him it was definitely in the best interests of the man who'd loosed it to die before the Colonel got there.

Hesitating on the threshold, James drew a deep breath and steeled himself to enter. He had to duck to get through the low doorway. He heard Tavington's, "Well?"

Bordon was staring out the window, but he turned, told the Colonel, "I'm sorry, sir. He died."

"Bring me the other one," Tavington ordered and grasped the side of the table to dump the body unceremoniously in the floor. James flinched at both the callousness with which it was done and the slightly squishy sound the body made as it hit the floor and the pool of blood that had escaped it and the others. That had been a man, and Tavington treated his remains much the way he would have a pile of trash. No matter what the dead man's politics, James couldn't help feeling he deserved more than to be discarded like refuse.

When Rollins was escorted in, though, James momentarily thought he wouldn't mind seeing this particular weasel tortured. The man was an inveterate thief, and James had run him off of Oak Point more than once. One of the men plunked down a satchel from which spilled a considerable amount of whatever plunder Rollins had managed to steal of late. Most of it was small enough not to be missed by its owners, James noted, and much of it would be difficult to return to those to whom it belonged. The items had value, though none was unique or so valuable it would be easily missed. The sheer number of coins, though, told its own story without Bordon saying, "This one's a rebel and a thief."

Rollins glared at Tavington and bit out, "I'm not a thief! I'm a patriot."

It was all James could do not to snort aloud. He suspected Rollins had joined Martin's militia—and he knew he was one of Martin's men because he had recognized him in an earlier skirmish—for the ease with which he could loot plantation houses of the loyalists who had left for Charles Town, the West Indies, Canada, or even England.

James watched as Tavington picked up a silver coin and said to Rollins, "Ah. I wonder how patriotic you would be if I offered you the chance to walk out of here alive and the chance to triple all of this." He imagined that the Colonel gave Rollins his cold-eyed stare. "And all you have to do is tell me where I can find Benjamin Martin and his rabble."

His own eyes were on Rollins, so James saw what was coming. He was surprised the Colonel didn't. The man gave an ugly little laugh and spat in Tavington's face. "Do your worst," he challenged the Colonel.

"I always do," Tavington assured him before proving it.

Not surprisingly, the man cracked after a while, though probably after a much shorter time than the Colonel thought he would, based on his initial bravado. Rollins most likely thought Tavington would let him go free after all. The Colonel certainly told him he would, but James knew without a doubt that the moment he spat in Tavington's face Rollins had forfeited his life. While he wasn't sorry to see the man finally pay, as James chose to see it, for his crimes, he was still sickened at the method. Rollins told the truth, confirmed much of what Tavington had learned in Charles Town about who was with Martin and where they lived before he died.

Once they left the small farm and arrived at camp, James went to his tent and remained there until the evening meal was served. He needed the time to regain some equilibrium, time to gather his thoughts and to settle into at least a facsimile of normality before he faced his fellow officers and his commandant. While he felt steadier by the time they were fed the evening meal, James wasn't remotely hungry, kept seeing the blood and the yellowish fat under the now-dead men's skin. He ate a little bread and drank as much rum as he could get. Jorie sat with him, but she didn't try to talk him into a better mood this time.

When the meal was over, though, she handed him a packet of letters. James idly looked through them, hoped one would be from Beth but was disappointed. In their tent, he sat on his cot to read them. His manager had sent him the quarterly accounts, mentioned they had lost some slaves to passing militia and that a few had taken advantage of the war's disruptions to run away. James had a strange moment of sympathy with the runaways, found he wished he, too, could do so. Still it was a financial loss, and he considered whether to have his manager replace them or wait until the war finished since farming had been affected by the ongoing battles.

His mother, on the other hand, wrote of Charles Town gossip. He had to smile over her reaction to the outdoor chaise Beth had ordered and which had been delivered to their home. James was further amused by the fact that his mother wrote she had visited the German herself, commissioned her own version of the elongated chair with its padded, adjustable back.

It was the news she included about Helen Cameron that caught and held his attention. Temperance Wilkins wrote that several merchants in Charles Town had cut off the other woman's credit. Helen had, as his mother put it, dared to demand that Beth pay their debts. Beth had refused, and Helen had threatened to expose her. James smiled as he read his mother's description of the succinct but pointed threats of her own Beth had used to dismiss her mother-in-law. His mother had also included the small piece of newsprint bearing the advertisement Beth had placed in the _Gazette_ declaring she was not responsible for the debts of the Cameron family.

His humor was short-lived, though. Beth's cousin, the sea captain who had brought her to South Carolina, was due in port any day, and his mother reported Beth still debated booking passage back to Europe. Intellectually, James knew she would be safer if she did so, but he selfishly hoped she'd remain with his mother and sister, then with him when the war was over.

There were a few paragraphs about a play they had seen, news of Bess and the other servants, the difficulties they'd had getting certain goods, and news of Tobias Henderson's courtship of Katy. His mother, he noted, was inclined to think favorably of the boy, and James prepared himself to find his sister married without his consent.

Katy's letter was full of Toby, and James was glad of the bubbly distraction his sister's words provided, though in other circumstances he'd probably have a hard time hiding his discomfort at her profuse compliments about the youngest Henderson. There was no doubt she'd accept Toby's proposal, and James hoped what she wrote was true and that the boy would, indeed, make her happy.

He had letters to write in return, including one to his solicitor, but he wasn't in the mood to do so at the moment. He was beyond tired, but he doubted he'd sleep well after the day's events. Nonetheless, he found what he needed and settled in to respond to the letters he'd just read.

When Jorie strode into the tent, James was seated at the small table writing his mother. He looked up from his letter as she crossed to him and dropped another letter on the table in front of him. "Anna sent you this with the one she wrote me," she told him, and then crossed to her cot. She sat on it, waved a hand at him, and dryly ordered, "Go on! I doubt it's poisoned or explosive."

Setting his pen aside, he picked up the folded parchment and looked at the neatly ornate way in which she had written his first name only on the outside. He turned it over and broke the wax seal before unfolding it.

Her handwriting was tiny but easily read, and James was surprised she'd filled every scrap of space on the page. _Dearest James_, he read_, I know I should not write you, but I simply felt no desire today to do what others dictate I must. I grant you permission to call me a weak female._

Jorie chuckled, and James realized he grinned at her words. He could hear Beth's voice in his head as he read it. Unlike his mother and Katy, her letter wasn't filled with gossip or mundane things. He was startled to realize what he held was the first actual love letter he'd ever received.

After a few paragraphs, he decided the woman could teach Tavington and Bordon a thing or two about torture. Her words made him long for her in ways he would never have imagined—primarily because her words painted pictures for him that involved the two of them and not a stitch of clothing between them. He paused and wondered if she was actually flexible enough to deliver on the suggestion she made in another paragraph, visualized what it might be like to lie beneath the stars at Oak Point with her on that chaise the German had made for her. From her words, he could almost feel the breeze coming off the river, smell the gardenias his mother had had planted there a few years before. More importantly, when he closed his eyes, he could smell Beth, could feel her skin under his fingers and palms and smell her scent.

Beth was, apparently, intent on killing him.

He read the rest of it rapidly, then returned to the beginning and read it again, more slowly, savored her words. For the next half hour he lost himself in the lilt of her words, in the images and feelings she evoked through them.

When he finished, he read the last bit again. She wrote, _I have heard from my cousin and from my youngest sister today. My mother wrote as well, and I find that while you are still relatively near, I have no desire to leave without seeing you again. While it would be the safer option, especially since your former friend has also chosen to provide advice, I believe I shall remain with your mother and sister as long as they will have me. It is utterly selfish of me to hope you will have me as well—and soon—but I do. If it were at all safe to do so, I would consider Jorie's example, dress as a man and come to you. I may be foolish, but I fear I am not so brave as to chance that fate would deliver me safely to you._

Jorie's sleepy voice startled him when she asked, "What did she write to have you staring into the distance in such a manner?"

"Want to read it?" he asked, pitched his voice so that his question dared her to agree.

She raised a brow. "I feel certain I absolutely should not—no matter how curious your rapt, lovesick expression makes me."

He laughed, unable to take offense since he was certain he probably had looked lovesick.

"Good to see you've finally gotten over whatever had you looking genuinely sick," she said, and then she rolled, reached for something before she tossed him an apple which he caught. "I pinched some cold meat, too, if you think you can eat."

Her words sobered James, made him remember what he would prefer not to. He set Beth's letter next to the others on the table and crossed to take the covered plate she held out to him. "Your sister has an obscene sense of appropriate content for a letter."

As he sat on the camp stool next to Jorie's cot, she grinned. "I doubt it's half so obscene as the letters our mother used to write us when she was off chasing her latest lover."

Making a face, James said, "I thought you wanted me to eat."

"Point taken," she said amiably. "I do, though, wonder what's to be done with the two of you."

He swallowed the mouthful of chewed beef. "Your sister had some interesting suggestions about what to do with me."

It was Jorie's turn to make a face. "I really do not need to hear it, James."

Taking pity on her, he considered that almost off-hand comment Beth had written. "Did she say what Will wanted in the letter she wrote you?"

Jorie's gaze sharpened, but she shook her head. "She didn't mention him at all."

James told her that Beth had said Will gave her some advice. He couldn't help wondering if the other man had done so in person or had written her. He wondered if it had truly been advice or if he had threatened Beth.

"Anna needs to take more care," Jorie said, chewing her lower lip. "I think it is time I wrote our uncle."

Confused, James frowned, shook his head and asked, "Why?"

"Anna told me she cannot divorce Will here, and she also mentioned that your laws say only the church can dissolve her marriage." She met James's eyes. "That can be arranged—by the request of one king to another who wishes his support."

Before he could respond, Bordon was there, told them they would ride out at first light for Pembroke.


	21. Chapter 21

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 21**

They rode into Pembroke in the middle of the afternoon, and James eyed the familiar town. It was one of those sleepy little villages that dotted South Carolina. The people who lived there were no better and no worse than any others James knew. Colonel Tavington was convinced it was a hub of rebellion. It was true that Reverend Oliver led the congregation in town, and it was also true that Oliver had abandoned his flock to aid and abet Benjamin Martin. Dan Scott, who also rode and fought with Martin, was from Pembroke. It was true as well that Peter Howard had never done a damn thing to hide how he felt about King George and his government, so it was no great stretch to imagine he was a likely source of support for Martin and his militia, especially since the man was in no condition to take up arms himself.

James had heard the man's daughter spout treasonous nonsense enough times to figure she, too, held her father's views, and given her infatuation with Gabriel Martin, she likely provided any support a mere woman could. He didn't envy Gabriel, if he was foolish enough to marry the woman, since he was certain Anne Howard was one of those females who would rule a man's life with that often sharp tongue of hers. Then again, he'd never really noticed much gumption in the eldest Martin son—if he discredited joining the rebellion over his father's wishes—so perhaps the boy needed someone to provide him with direction.

Howard's wife, on the other hand, barely ever said anything, so it was difficult to measure any culpability she might have. James suspected she simply went along with her husband, so he wondered how she had managed to raise the forward shrew who was her daughter.

As the infantry soldiers attached to the Dragoons began knocking on doors and gathering the town's citizens, James considered that this might well be one of those places and one of those times where wives and children might be actual combatants rather than simply bystanders.

He and Jorie sat their horses, Tavington having given the order for the town to be burned once he had spoken with the villagers, and watched as the soldiers worked their way from house to house, herded the village's residents to the only building capable of providing space for them all.

Oliver's church was an excellent specimen, and James studied its white clapboards, the windows and their elegant fanlights. Pembroke had somehow been able to afford something more picturesque than many village churches, but James knew some of the area planters had likely subsidized it. While they might not always be the most diligently faithful of God's creatures, for many, their church tithes were a mere a pittance given their often immense wealth. James followed the steeple's spear as it pointed heavenward and wondered if any of the townspeople trickling into the building looked upward, considered their own state of grace. For that matter, James wondered if the parish had hired a new minister or if they relied on lay preachers or some itinerant clergyman to tend Pembroke's spiritual flock.

James considered that the Church of England might have chosen to punish Pemboke by not supplying a new preacher when Oliver joined the rebellion, though he would have thought the King's churchmen might want to do what they could to correct their wayward flock, bring them back into the fold. The Church had, after all, sent more than one minister whose mission was to attempt to bring South Carolinians into compliance.

Jorie's horse snorted, shook its head and stamped. James felt the same impatience. It was taking time for the men to move from house to house and search each one, steer its inhabitants toward the church. It also took time to round up those who chose to run, and James, watching a soldier practically drag a young woman he didn't recognize toward the church, hoped Tavington might simply take the men he sought and leave the others in peace—assuming any of the men they hunted happened to be in Pembroke at all.

Looking toward Howard's home and store, James realized he hadn't seen any of that family's members, so he wondered where the Howards were. It was possible, he supposed that someone had sent word to Peter Howard that the Dragoons were coming, and the man might have chosen to take his family to safety. If he were in the other man's shoes, it was what he would have done. James didn't consider protecting one's family cowardly, and there was no doubt that Howard was far from a coward given his prior service to the King and his vocal bravery in the rebel's cause. Perhaps that was why when he rode toward an approaching wagon, he was startled to recognize Howard, his wife, and daughter.

"Everyone's been requested to gather at the church," he told them.

He caught Anne's surprise and watched it shift to fear, and for a moment he thought of Beth. Beth, he knew, feared for herself. He suspected Anne feared for her father, though her own treason might, in Colonel Tavington's book, merit punishment as well. James wondered if she understood that and if that accounted for that glimpse of fear.

"Mr. Wilkins?" Howard asked, and James was disconcerted by the man's curious reaction. Just as Howard had never hidden his rebellious sentiments, James had never completely hidden his loyalty, had always answered honestly when asked directly, so why the man should appear surprised to see him in uniform, he couldn't imagine. Then again, James felt some measure of chagrin to be the one to confront him. After all, he had often done business with Howard, had mostly not held the man's politics against him, nor, he thought, had Howard held his own against him.

James controlled his horse, eyed the man and wondered if he knew something James did not. Perhaps that was why he gave a fuller explanation to him and his family than most of the other townspeople had been given: "Colonel Tavington wishes to address the whole village."

To his relief, the Howards drove on, entered the church peaceably, though he noticed Anne appeared willing to challenge the Dragoons, probably would have done so more vigorously had her mother not hissed at her to, most likely, be quiet. James cocked his head, realized there was something different about the girl, and then it dawned on him she had begun wearing the style of lace cap mostly reserved for married women. His heart sank, and while he didn't particularly like the girl, he hoped she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut because he was certain that if she had married, her husband was Gabriel Martin. After all, the girl had never shown a bit of interest in anyone else.

He guided his horse back to Jorie, who raised her brows. He shrugged. Given the headstrong women he dealt with on a daily basis when he was at home, he felt no compulsion to explain to yet one more headstrong woman, but for whatever reason, he suddenly missed Beth more than he would have thought possible. Perhaps it was envy that Gabriel Martin had managed to claim a bride while fighting a war, but James wished desperately he was home at Oak Point with Beth.

Tavington nodded, gestured for them to follow, and they turned their horses and rode with him toward the church. The soldiers had kept the doors shut, opened them only to allow more townspeople inside, and the Dragoons lined up short of the church's entrance and allowed the Colonel to ride on alone. James's attention was caught by the infantrymen attached to them who had begun moving lengths of board and other wood toward the windows. He frowned, puzzled over what they intended. Then he realized the shutters to the church windows locked from inside the building, and the lengths of wood were to hold them shut. Tavington must be planning to lock the villagers inside when he had the information he wanted, so the Dragoons could ride out without someone from Pembroke providing the militia any warning.

While James admitted his attendance to his own faith was intermittent at best, which contributed considerably to his mother's concern for the state of his immortal soul, he was still appalled when Tavington simply rode his horse up the steps and into the building.

Jorie's disgusted snort drew his attention, and he looked over to see her shake her head and grimace. "No way to treat a horse," she explained grimly. James noted it was softly enough said that her voice didn't carry beyond the two of them.

James silently agreed that only an idiot risked a horse on stairs, even the few steps leading into the church, particularly a cavalryman whose life depended on his mount. He gave an order to prepare the torches to fire the village buildings and then studied the church's open door. From where they waited, they couldn't hear what Tavington said, only the soft sounds of his voice. There were a couple of other voices, one of which sounded female. Then Tavington rode out of the church. Someone inside, a man, James realized though he didn't recognize the voice, called something out, and Tavington sounded ghoulishly happy when he responded, "And indeed you may!" He then dropped his voice and added, "That's between you and God."

The soldiers closed the doors and then chained them.

Nudging his horse forward, James acknowledged silently that he didn't like Tavington's methods, and while making refugees of Pembroke's villagers would cost each resident personally, at least they would be more fortunate than many who had supported the Crown had been at the hands of the rebels. When he reached the Colonel, he reported, "Ready to fire the town on your orders, Sir."

Tavington's stare was glacial. "The town? Burn the church."

For a moment, a very brief moment, James was certain he had misheard his commanding officer. They had been told they would burn the town, and James was fine with that given what he knew of the village's sentiments. Burning the church meant callously killing people, many of whom he had known his entire life, and many of whom were good people whose sins were no greater than the average man's.

The cold stare Tavington leveled on him made plain he had not misheard nor misunderstood.

With a kind of desperation, James considered and rejected a number of arguments for adhering to the original plan. He could not give the order, he knew, and he didn't think he could consign his neighbors—rebel or not—to such a death. Unless Tavington had irrefutable evidence that each of Pembroke's citizens had committed treason, this was nothing more than murder.

That thought spurred him to blurt, "There's no honor in this."

If he'd thought that would sway the man before him, he was obviously mistaken. As he met Tavington's cold stare, he wildly considered how to get out of this. He would not bring dishonor on his family, but it wasn't hard to read the other man's contempt, contempt James was suddenly certain was directed toward himself rather than the villagers he wanted James to roast. He realized then that Tavington intended to test his loyalty, and James wasn't at all certain he could deliberately do as ordered so that he could reassure the other man of his commitment to his King.

Controlling his own horse, Tavington asked, "Didn't you say all those who stand against England deserve to die a traitor's death?" The man's gaze sharpened. "Burn the church, Captain."

No matter where he looked, James saw similar distrust in the faces of his fellow Dragoons. Most of them had come from other colonies, many from the North, and he knew they had contempt for the constantly revolving door of some South Carolinian planters. He knew then they suspected he might be susceptible to the same changing loyalties.

It was do or die, he realized, his neighbors or himself.

He had never expected to find himself in this position, and he had never expected to so bitterly regret the words he had said to Tavington when they first met, but he now did. His was a losing proposition regardless of what action he chose. If he refused, Tavington could have him shot for having refused a direct order. If he obeyed, he would have to live with the knowledge that he had been the instrument of death for many people who likely did not deserve it. He also knew that if he did this, he would never be able to return to Oak Point, even if England ultimately prevailed, because his remaining neighbors would never forget this and never forgive him.

James looked at the other men, but what he sought in their faces he wasn't certain. He saw only suspicion and doubt, so, in the end, he chose what he knew was the coward's way. He turned to one of the infantrymen who held torches and ordered, "Give me the torch."

"Sir," the man answered and handed it to him, and James wondered, now that it was in his hand, whether or not he could find the will to actually set the flame to the church. He looked once more at Tavington, saw the contemptuous curl of lip. He looked back at the church, decided that if he could throw it hard enough to land it on the roof over the entryway porch, the wooden roof shakes would most likely catch quickly, which made it the best vantage point to do the job and to get it over with quickly. He fought back the urge to be sick, and cocked his arm.

Before he could bring his arm forward and let the torch sail toward the church, someone's hand slapped over his wrist and another hand wrenched the torch from him.

"Enough," Jorie said, though James heard the carefully controlled fury in her voice. "He proved willing," she added, and James noticed she stared stonily at their Colonel as she bit it out, "so I think there can be no more doubt that he's loyal."

Tavington's head tilted, and he turned his icy gaze on her. "He has not obeyed the order yet."

James reached for the torch, furious though not at all sure with whom—Jorie, Tavington, or himself. She moved it further from his grasp. "He planned to, so enough. If you want to burn the villagers alive, fire the building yourself."

The Colonel's jaw worked, clenched, and his glare should probably have incinerated Jorie on the spot. "Your insubordination is duly noted, Captain Ramsdell, but Captain Wilkins was given a direct order—one I expect to be followed." His gaze met James's, and in that moment James wondered what price Jorie would pay for stopping him.

Not that he wasn't glad she had, but he suspected he was going to have to gather his courage once more and execute the Colonel's order, and he wasn't sure he could do so a second time. Perhaps there was a God who watched out for men like him after all, who knew that he had his sins, but James was mostly well-meaning, mostly tried to always do what was right, mostly tried to live an honorable life and to uphold the rules of a gentleman, and perhaps God appreciated that because Tavington blew an angry breath through his nose, sniffed, and turned and gave the order to secure the villagers.

The men slammed the church shutters closed and made sure the villagers within would not be able to easily free themselves. Tavington then gave orders, split the troops, sent them in different raiding parties with orders to meet up again in a couple of days. Jorie and James and their mounted troops would be accompanied by most of the infantrymen while Tavington and Bordon would take part of the Dragoons and head for the old Spanish mission at Black Swamp.

James wasn't sorry to be sent with Jorie, to not have to follow Tavington. They led the way from Pembroke, and James was preoccupied with wondering why Tavington had allowed Jorie to undermine his command as she had done. While he was glad she had done so, he was troubled by the methods of punishment Tavington could use to see that no one else would ever again thwart one of his orders. The Colonel could have her brought up on mutiny charges, could make an example of her by having her hanged or shot, and the breadth of other possible penalties for having protected James were serious enough to trouble him deeply. Even if the man only ordered her lashed, it would expose her gender, and she would be relieved of her command and expelled from the Dragoons.

There was no question James owed her a tremendous debt for what she had just done, but she had risked all to keep him from doing something he hadn't wanted to do but had felt compelled to do.

He simply hoped Tavington and Bordon didn't circle back and burn the church and its prisoners anyway.

Once they were a few miles from Pembroke, James turned to watch Jorie, who still looked angry.

She gave him a look that was only marginally less cold than Tavington's had been. "My sister would never forgive either of us," she bit out.

It was true, he knew. Beth would not condone murder, and that's what it would have been.

"He will retaliate," James pointed out. After all, Tavington was one of the most vindictive men it had ever been his misfortune to have met.

"Most likely," she acknowledged, "but my background provides me a measure of protection, and since you insist you will remain here after the war, it is best you are able to do so with a clear conscience."

She left unsaid, _And with clean hands_, though James ruefully wondered if instead he would be thought a coward, wondered, too, if he would be plagued by those who had been in that church. That assumed they ever learned what Tavington had ordered and that he had nearly complied.

Deciding that in this instance he could comfortably live with being thought a coward, James knew it was preferable to being thought the kind of man who could exterminate an entire village. His father had always told him a man's honor was the one thing no man could afford to lose. James had been raised with a code of honor he had only once broken—with Beth. As they rode, he considered another lesson of his youth, one that held it became easier to break God's commandments once a man had taken the first step along that road. By that argument, his indiscretion—no, call it what it was—his sin with Beth had made it easier for him to nearly act on Tavington's order and break another of God's laws.

He considered that, decided that his near-compliance might have more to do with fear—both the fear of being viewed a coward and the fear of being viewed a traitor. Neither were accusations an honorable man generally tolerated among his class.

James turned his thoughts to the expectations with which his society raised men and the sheer stupidity that came from blind acceptance of things like duty. He wondered at the kind of courage it took to say no, courage he'd found lacking in himself when he had been stared down by his commander, and granted that he had to accept he was, indeed, a coward. It also explained his inaction where Beth's safety was concerned, and he turned his thoughts to ways he might be able to redress that particular failure of character.

Not long after, he looked behind, realized he saw smoke, and reigned Ares in. He was about to turn back, but Jorie's voice stopped him. "Given the amount of smoke and the distance we've already come, James, there is nothing that can be done."

There was no question what she said was true, but James still felt a flare of anger and the urge to see for himself. Tavington must have returned—or sent someone more amenable than James and Jorie to set fire to the church and end Pembroke's sedition. It was possible, he supposed, that it was the town that burned rather than the church, but he felt certain that the residents of Pembroke had suffered the very fate his Colonel had determined they would.

It gave him much to think about as they rode and eventually made a cold camp since they knew there were rebel militia in the area. In particular, it made him consider what retaliation the rebels might make in order to exact revenge. James was certain Martin and his men would strike back, and he was suddenly glad his mother, Katy, and Beth were still safely in Charles Town, which was still in English hands.

For once, Jorie didn't attempt to change his mood. In fact, she said little, and James wondered if she worried what Tavington would do to her for thwarting him. He wondered if he should try to put her at ease as she had previously done for him, but other than thanking her for stopping him, he couldn't find the words, and he was uncomfortable thanking her for saving him from a crime for which he would not be able to forgive himself, so he said nothing.

She stared moodily into the darkness. James, the senior officer among the Dragoons present, arranged the watch, issued orders to insure they didn't drop their guards, and hoped the rebels decided to chase Tavington rather than attack them.

By morning, Jorie was more herself, and James was a bit more himself. During the night he had accepted the deed was done and there was no changing it, cleared his conscience, resolved that the next time he was ordered to commit an atrocity he would stand his ground. He also decided that when his time with the Dragoons was up, he would go home, return to Oak Point and mind his own business by taking a neutral stance. He still believed South Carolina was best served through loyalty to the King, but he was unwilling to set aside a lifetime of principles in order to continue serving that King's interests by obeying irrational orders from Colonel Tavington, especially since he had concluded during the long night that such orders didn't serve the King's interests in the least.

-X-

When Tavington and what remained of his troop joined them at the English camp, it was easy to see the man had been wounded, and James wondered who had attacked them and where, whether they should be concerned Tavington and the Dragoons with him had been pursued after leaving Pembroke. One of the other Dragoons who arrived with their Colonel told them that Bordon and the others had been killed. James noted God had apparently brought the rebel's fury down on the man who had intended to kill them. Jorie, in what James attributed to rash anger, decided to beard the Colonel in his den. She stalked to the man's tent, but she returned white-faced. James asked her what she had learned.

"They're dead."

Though for a moment he thought she meant the missing Dragoons, James grimly nodded since they had known that before she confronted Tavington, but when he studied her pallor and the hint of nausea on her features, he understood she meant the people of Pembroke. "He followed through on his order—or chose another of his men to do so."

Jorie breathed deeply, let the breath sigh out. "He didn't burn the church, and he claims he didn't send anyone else to do so." Troubled grey eyes met his. "Gabriel Martin and several of the rebel militia, including the minister of Pembroke's church, hunted them down. One of the rebels claimed Will Cameron told them you had followed Tavington's order, set fire to the church."

James nearly scoffed. In order for Will to know about that order, either someone was a spy in their own ranks, one of Pembroke's citizens had escaped the church and told Will a story that had become garbled, someone they had missed when herding the villagers into the church had overheard and lied, or Will had been there and overheard the order and chose to blame James when the church was burned with the people of Pembroke inside.

He shied from the other possibility because, despite all that happened between him and his childhood friend, he didn't want to believe it was true: that Will had set fire to the church and now blamed James out of some petty revenge.

"The Colonel says the church was burned with the people of Pembroke inside. We didn't do it, and Tavington says none of the men he took with him did it." She eyed James. Those gray eyes of hers held anger as well as concern. "Is Will capable of this?"

If she had asked him the year before, he would have told her emphatically no. Now, though, given what he'd seen the Camerons do since then, he had to admit he might have. He told Jorie as much, though he confessed he had no idea why Will would do so, would so risk being caught in a lie or having his guilt brought to light. He considered, then he added, "The people in that church were on his side of this, so I can't imagine why he would choose to kill allies they may well need." After all, James had finally realized Howard likely provided supplies through his store to Martin and his men, something Jorie acknowledged Tavington had learned from those they had locked inside the church.

Another thought occurred to him, but he quickly dismissed it since Will could have found easier ways to destroy James's reputation without resorting to murder. He told Jorie as much.

"If he exposes my sister's infidelity, though," she mused, "he runs the risk of exposing his own secret." She shook her head. "Of the two, you're more likely to come out of that disclosure with your reputation mostly intact. From what I've been told, Will would be ostracized—if not actually executed."

"If he can convince people this is true," James said, horror growing with each breath that anyone who knew him might believe him capable of such an inhumane act, "then you might as well have let me throw that torch." Panic welled, but he fought it down. It would ruin him, ruin his family, and ruin any chance that Katy would find a husband, because not even a renegade Henderson would offer for her if her brother had committed murder on the scale of what had been done at Pembroke.

"Many witnesses know you did not do this, James," she reminded him.

"Many English soldiers," he reminded her, "all of whom serve under a man—as do I—who is quite rightly labelled The Butcher." He knew full well he would be damned by association, and for the first time the full consequences of his loyalty came home to him. It wouldn't have mattered whether they burned the church or not. Nothing they did mattered beyond the fact that Tavington encouraged savagery in his troops, let them reap whatever vengeance they chose. What would matter was not that James did not participate in their dishonorable acts but that he had sometimes been present, had been a member of the unit responsible—and had not stopped it.

The tired, slightly bitter response Jorie offered, James wrote off as a joke, though he didn't find it in the least amusing: "All the more reason for you to take Anna home to the Vallée du Falcon, let her divorce Will there, and marry her, raise little Wilkinses."

She walked away from him with that, and James stared stonily after her.

-X-

Any hope he had that Will's story—and he wasn't completely certain it _was_ Will's story—would die or be discredited was soon gone. When he saw his former neighbors, he at first assumed it was the uniform of the Dragoons they reacted to, but it soon became apparent that he was the one responsible for their anger and revulsion. He had strangely drawn the ire usually reserved solely for his Colonel.

Part of him had hoped it was simply a case of misdirected anger, but when he was spat upon and called murderer by a woman who had been his mother's friend, he accepted that however it had happened, James was seen as a traitor to his people. Politics didn't even seem to enter into the enmity with which he was greeted, rather it was the sin of having killed his neighbors, a sin, moreover, that he had not committed.

James soon quit trying to explain, stopped defending himself when it was obvious no one listened. He bitterly reflected that a lifetime of honorable behavior had been wiped out by a single act of which he was not guilty. They would simply have to win the war, pray that would help settle the matter, and thus far the English were winning in South Carolina, so he held out hope they would prevail and could clear up the misunderstanding. When he said as much to Jorie, she had given him a look that clearly questioned his mental faculties. He was taken aback, but she looked worn, a little frazzled, and he blurted, "Are you alright?"

She sighed, shook her head and walked away. James watched her go, wondered what troubled her. As he stared thoughtfully at her, she turned, came back, and asked, "Have you heard anything from Anna?"

Startled, he told her, "No."

For that matter, he hadn't heard from his mother or Katy, but they were in the back country and constantly moving, so it wasn't very surprising that any post they might have been sent hadn't caught up with them. For his part, he'd been somewhat relieved since it delayed having to explain any rumors they might have heard.

"Neither have I," she said heavily, "but I have heard from Arianna, who only wrote that she had had a troubling letter from our sister."

"Troubling how?" James demanded, instantly worried that something had happened to Beth.

Jorie shrugged. "That's all she wrote, that it was 'troubling.' With Arie, that could mean anything from Anna having confessed she had a cold to Anna having been harmed again by the Camerons."

The little princess had a flair for melodrama, it was true, but James suspected she wished to warn Jorie that something more serious was amiss with Beth. James's thoughts rushed through possibilities, each darker and more dire than the previous.

"If Anna's situation were dangerous," she said, "then she would have written me herself. I suspect she simply wrote something carelessly that caused Arianna to overreact, but I would like to know the truth of it."

As would James, who acknowledged as much.

"On the other hand," Jorie continued, "At least I may have a possible diversion from your own troubles."

He waited, but she seemed intent on making him ask, so he finally did.

"Have you heard of Major James Wemyss?"

The name was familiar, and James finally placed it. "He's with the 63rd Regiment."

"He's also been cutting quite a swathe along the Santee. Apparently, Colonel Tavington and others turned their traitor lists over to the man, who has been capturing, hanging, and burning out the rebel's families so Lord Cornwallis can finally cross into North Carolina." She gave James a sour look. "He, too, burned a church—though an empty one. With any luck, someone might attribute Pembroke to him."

Jorie turned to walk away, but then she turned back. "The General sent Wemyss after Francis Marion, but apparently he's having no more luck running the man to ground than we are with Benjamin Martin."

"Nor will he," James replied. He'd heard the stories of Marion's victories, and the man was drawing more and more recruits as the English committed more and more violent, repressive, and retaliatory actions against the rebels and against civilians. Like Martin, he knew every inch of his part of South Carolina, including where he could hide and where he could lie in ambush, and certainly no one could accuse the man of cowardice.

As Jorie left him, James reflected on the levels of cowardice men found themselves prone to, and he further reflected on some men's apparent need for revenge. He considered what he'd like to do to Will for the harm his old friend had done Beth, but he didn't find the same need for vengeance against the neighbors who had simply supported a different idea, a different notion of government. He further considered what would happen to his home, his family, if the tides of war began to roll the other way.

It wasn't long before he began to see the possible answer to that question.


	22. Chapter 22

Many thanks to those of you reading who have reviewed or let me know what you think about this. I greatly appreciate your comments.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 22**

Watching the pretty little widow approach, James settled in to enjoy his favorite new pastime.

Nearly all the regiments had camp followers, often wives and children of the men serving in those units, but sometimes they were widows of dead soldiers who either had no home or family to return to or who could not safely return home. Despite the fact that official army policy stated they were to be returned to their homes when their husbands died, it was often impractical to do so, and the women performed necessary functions, particularly for those who had no servants and no desire to do their own laundry. Many of the men took advantage of the services on offer, and some took advantage of more personal services when a woman showed herself willing.

The little widow striding his way with her arms full of clean, folded laundry had something a bit more personal in mind than the clothing she delivered. She had taken a shine to Jorie, who was mortified by the other woman's pursuit while James was just generally entertained by their encounters. Jorie was always stiffly polite when the widow managed to corner her and engage her in conversation. The other woman always tried hard to crack her shell, and she often brought Jorie small gifts—food, usually, which Beth's sister should have appreciated more, especially since when they were on the march, their rations were often neither plentiful nor particularly pleasant.

James figured the widow had heard Jorie was a prince and decided she liked the idea of being a princess, of a softer life than that she had lived thus far. That Jorie was better looking than many of the single men certainly didn't hurt. As a result, the little widow catered to Beth's sister, who refused to let her do anything beyond Jorie's laundry, which she insisted on paying for despite the widow's protests. James figured Jorie would prevent the woman from doing even that if she could, but she had first begun taking dirty linen and uniforms to the widow because the other laundresses had more than enough to do already.

As he watched her approach, James continued cleaning his boots on the camp stool he'd brought outside his tent to enjoy the warm, fall morning and observed that she was a pretty thing, though not nearly as pretty as Beth. Alarice Winter was perhaps five feet, pleasantly plump in the places a man liked a woman to be, with the sunny blonde hair and blue eyes common to her German background. She had married an Englishman in Pennsylvania, and when war came and her husband decided to fight, he had joined one of the loyalist regiments. Little Alarice had followed him. Eventually, her husband had wound up in the infantry unit attached to the Dragoons. He'd been killed in one of his first battles with the Dragoons, and now Alarice Winter struggled to earn enough to return to her family.

Cynically, James wondered why she had married Samuel Winter since she didn't seem especially distraught that he was dead. On the other hand, he knew well enough that many couples made the decision to marry for every reason except mutual affection.

She'd told James she was twenty-six, but the deprivations of travelling with an army were beginning to wear on her, age her. Alarice was a hard worker, hadn't taken up with any of the soldiers who had offered to take her on as their mistress, and James admired that. It was one of the reasons he wanted to suggest to her that she should turn her affections elsewhere.

Then again, he perversely enjoyed Alarice's pursuit of Beth's sister, and he certainly didn't want to encourage the little widow to turn her eyes on him. Others had, but James wanted no one but Beth.

Alarice's attempts to get Jorie's interest were a rare distraction from his increasingly gloomy thoughts following Pembroke, and it made Jorie more human to watch her struggle to discourage the other woman without resorting to either hurting or humiliating the little widow. The biggest problem, though, was that Jorie couldn't exactly admit she was a woman and remain with the Dragoons.

Despite being female, Jorie simply had no idea how to deal with women, and that amused James to no end even as he would have thought being female herself would give her insight into how best to discourage the woman and still protect her own secret.

Since Jorie's tent was next to his own, James had a clear view of Alarice's determined approach, so he would only need to turn slightly to see Jorie's tent. He nearly called out a warning to Beth's sister, who was inside hers writing letters. James had written his earlier, including one to Beth, and handed them off to post.

They had been among the most difficult letters he had ever penned. By now, he was certain they had heard what happened at Pembroke, and he had attempted to explain that despite what they might have heard, he was not guilty of the crime now attributed to him. His mother and Katy, he knew, would believe his explanations, but he wasn't completely certain about Beth.

He wanted to believe she would hold faith, but he had mentioned killing Will often enough to sow seeds of doubt, he suspected. As a result, he had been much more meticulous in recording the events that had led to and then proceeded from Pembroke's destruction when he wrote her. It was also the kind of story that was likely to spread through the loyalists as well as the rebels still residing in Charles Town, so if Beth heard the story (and he was pretty certain one of the Camerons would ensure she did), he wanted her to know the truth, wanted her to understand he had not done that of which he was accused. He had, though, owned that he would have followed his commandant's order and why.

It occurred to James that he should have torn the letter up, rewritten it and left that out since it might call into question his integrity, especially since letters during war time could easily go astray. Worse, Beth might assume he was the kind of man to kill innocents. He had not admitted the cowardice that had partly driven him, though.

As Alarice drew near enough to greet, she smiled at James, who nodded and said loudly enough Jorie could hear, "Good morning, Mrs. Winter."

She smiled, exposed dimples, and said, "And to you, Captain Wilkins."

He nearly turned his head to see if Jorie might try to escape out the back of her tent as she had a time or two before, but he didn't want to provide Alarice evidence the other woman had done so if she did. Jorie quickly ducked out of the front of her tent—to prevent Alarice from coming inside, James was certain—and met the woman a few feet from her tent's entrance. She accepted her cleaned uniforms and linens and handed Alarice payment before thanking her.

If Jorie had thought that would deter the other woman, she was sadly mistaken. "Lieutenant Ramsdell," the woman said breathlessly as Jorie turned to take her clothing inside. James noticed it hadn't taken long for news of Jorie's demotion to spread. Tavington had chosen that rather than the other options at his disposal for punishing her insubordination, so James concluded that she had been right when she said being a member of a royal family accorded her some protection. Then again, Tavington was known for being lax in reigning in his Dragoons when they acted as less than gentlemen in battle. James, though, had expected to pay penalties as well, and he couldn't help wondering if he might still and what Jorie might possibly have done in order to spare him.

Jorie breathed deeply, briefly looked heavenward—though whether she sought divine guidance or a lightning strike, James wasn't certain—and turned back to Alarice.

"They brought some fresh beef," the little blonde rushed out. "I could bring you some."

It was nearly noon, and that sounded good to James, but before he could speak up and accept if Jorie wasn't going to, Beth's sister said with cool politeness, "That's very kind of you, Mrs. Winter, but unnecessary."

"It's no trouble," Alarice insisted as Jorie turned away again.

"Thank you, but no," Jorie declined firmly and left Alarice standing outside.

James finished with his boots and set aside the saddle soap he'd used to clean them and the rag. As he lifted a foot to pull one on, he told Alarice quietly, "The lieutenant's busy."

She turned those blue eyes of hers on him and walked closer. "That's why I offered."

He noticed she wasn't extending that offer to him, just as he'd noticed he would have to go collect his clean clothes and drop off the dirty ones since Alarice didn't deliver his. That was not unusual, and it didn't especially bother James since he preferred now and then to have a reason to move around. He was used to harder labor than being a cavalryman generally offered him.

"Best leave him be for now," James advised.

It was getting harder to use the masculine pronoun in reference to Jorie, he noticed, wondered what would happen if he eventually slipped and failed to. Poor Alarice was wringing her hands and looked as though she were about to cry. James held back the instinctive sigh and wished he'd not spoken to the girl.

"It's so unfair," she said. James nearly asked what, but she rushed on, "Colonel Tavington shouldn't have lowered his rank."

"Lieutenant Ramsdell's fortunate the Colonel didn't order him shot for what he did." His gruff words made her flinch, but they were true. While James was grateful Jorie had interfered, he felt guilty that she had been punished while he had not, and that guilt was compounded by not owning that Jorie was punished because she prevented him from obeying a direct order. He was certain his punishment would come, and it added to the daily strain while he waited.

Alarice looked even more like she wanted to cry, and he nearly relented, nearly apologized, but then he didn't. The girl couldn't continue to pursue a woman for a husband, even if she didn't know Jorie was female, so she needed to be encouraged to look elsewhere if it was a husband she wanted.

He pulled his other boot on and stood, shoved an arm in a sleeve of his uniform jacket and shrugged it on. "I'll escort you back," he told her, figured he might as well get his laundry before heading to see what had been done to the beef Alarice said had been procured. Hopefully one of the better camp cooks had received it and hadn't done something that meant it would no longer resemble meat.

Shortening his strides for her, James walked with her to the area where the laundresses worked. For most of the walk, Alarice said nothing to him as they strode back to where she shared a tent with several other young women. There were men of wealth among the soldiers and the Dragoons, he reflected, if Alarice was after a husband who could provide her a much easier life than her late husband had been able to do. He liked the girl, so he considered who might best suit her.

"How long have you known Lieutenant Ramsdell?"

Her question interrupted his thoughts, and James shot a look at her. "Since about a year before he joined the Dragoons."

His terse answer didn't deter her. "How did you meet?"

"His older sister married my neighbor." James wouldn't claim Will as friend, and that no longer saddened him as it had previously. Now, the idea simply infuriated him. He might have sinned against Will, but his sin had not merited the murder of an entire village in order to seek revenge. In the weeks since Pembroke, James had decided the only logical explanation was Will's desire for revenge. He did not, however, look forward to his next encounter with Benjamin Martin, especially not since in the wake of the murders at Pembroke, Tavington had killed Gabriel Martin, admittedly in self-defense, but the boy had only gone after the Colonel because Gabriel's wife had been in that church.

"Are you married?"

Alarice's soft question nearly had him inventing another task so he could leave her, especially when she turned those wide blue eyes on him with a measuring look. "No," he admitted warily, "though there is someone I intend to marry when this is over."

That, of course, assumed Will died during the war and James survived. It also assumed Beth was willing to marry him, but since James didn't want to get involved with pretty little Alarice, he thought it best to make clear that he was no more available than Jorie—though Jorie was out of reach for far different reasons.

"Does the lieutenant have a sweetheart?"

"I've never asked," James admitted before wondering if there was some man Jorie might have left in Europe or met since arriving in the Colonies.

They had arrived at the camp followers' tents, and James was glad. He asked Alarice for his laundry, thanked her, and paid her. She then realized she had forgotten to collect Jorie's dirty clothes, and James assured her he would make sure it was sent to her with his own. As he headed back, he looked for one of the more trustworthy boys who roamed the camps, selected one of his fellow Dragoon's sons, and had the boy accompany him. He and Jorie each gave the boy a coin to take their dirty laundry to Alarice.

"You're going to have to tell her," James warned as they walked to the mess tent.

"You know damned well I can't," Jorie growled.

While that was certain true, James risked angering her further by adding, "You're going to have to tell her something."

"God knows what," Jorie breathed as they reached the mess tent.

James suppressed the urge to suggest that she simply tell Alarice she was already married. It would anger Jorie and end the amusement he gained from watching her try to discourage the little widow in other ways, though, so he didn't push too hard.

-X-

That afternoon, their mail finally caught up with them. James had the thickest packet of letters he had received at one time since joining the Dragoons, and he couldn't help thinking that wasn't a good thing. He sorted through them, found he had three each from his mother and from Katy, two from his solicitor, and one thick one from Beth. There were several others, and he started with those, mainly because they were from business partners.

He wasn't surprised that some wished to sever their interests, and he set those aside to forward to his solicitor with instructions. A few, to his horror, wanted to congratulate him on a job well done in burning the rebel scum. Those he decided to simply ignore since words simply failed him. His solicitor wrote about several business matters, including some in the letters he'd just read, and James settled in to respond with instructions before he read the letters from the women he'd left in Charles Town.

While he was tempted to devour Beth's first, he set it aside in favor of those from his family. The first of his mother's letters simply reported news and gave him the usual messages about how she loved and missed him, how she expected him to take care. Normally, he would have enjoyed that, felt pleasure at holding something from home regardless of its content, but he knew somewhere in the others would be whatever she had heard about Pembroke and her disappointment in him. That, he did not look forward to, but he opened Temperance Wilkins's next letter and read on.

His mother wrote that all was well in Charles Town, though some of the rebel sympathizers were making noises. She wrote, too, that Toby Henderson was constantly underfoot, which made James smile. He'd reconciled himself to his sister's choice, though he worried the actions attributed to him might prevent her from realizing her hopes where the boy was concerned. James reflected on how he had previously not believed a Henderson worthy of Katy, though he suspected it might turn out that the Hendersons would decide Katy no longer met acceptable standards in a bride because she was his sister.

It was toward the end of his mother's second letter that he thought he might have the answer to little Arianna's concerns about her sister. _Anna-Elizabeth insists it would be best for us all if she established her own household_, his mother wrote_. That maid of hers told Bess that she has begun looking for a house she might rent, but each time she inquires about or views a property, she is propositioned or told that Will must make the arrangements. I fear she will make a rash decision that will endanger her, especially since Will has made a few more appearances in Charles Town of late._

James had no intention of letting Beth live alone, especially not in Charles Town, and he considered how best to guarantee that she would remain with his family where she could be accorded a measure of protection from all the Camerons, not just Will.

His mother's final letter caused James to shift uncomfortably on his cot. He could hear his mother's tight, angry voice inside his head as he read. _Son,_ she began in lieu of her normal salutation, and James noticed she did not include any of the affectionate terms she normally would before writing that term. _We have recently received the most alarming news from Pembroke, and the accusations that accompanied it had best not be true._ He sighed. They weren't, and he was now glad the letter of explanation he'd written her was already on its way.

_I know I did not raise the kind of monster it would take to do such an inhumane thing to people amongst whom he lived his entire life and whom he recognized as friends and neighbors. I am quite certain that the claims made against you cannot possibly be true, but if it comes to pass that like other mothers I shall have to bear the news that I have raised a man with such callous disregard for God's laws, well, words simply defeat me._

James felt a tightness in his chest, then. His mother had accused him of defying God's laws over his affair with Beth, but he would have thought she would have trusted that despite that one lapse, he had done no such thing—especially since the sin about which she now wrote was a far less forgivable one than adultery.

As he read on, she invoked his dead father in her backhanded threats. After a couple of pages, apparently believing she had suitably chastised him, she shifted to news of the family. James had never been so glad he did not stand before her while she had her say and never was he so thankful for a change of subject in his life—until he reached the section toward the end where she mentioned Beth. _Anna-Elizabeth has fallen ill. The fever and ague took her last month, just before we received news of Pembroke._

His throat closed up, and his breathing practically stopped. Beth had managed to avoid the pestilence that claimed so many Europeans new to South Carolina, and he had believed she might be one of the fortunate ones who would escape the sickness to which so many succumbed. He unscrewed his eyes and continued reading his mother's news.

_The disease ran its course relatively quickly, but it has left her fairly weak. It is fortunate that she has been unable to venture out as it means she has not had to listen to the gloating the Camerons have insisted on doing over your fall from grace. James, I must warn you that they have spread widely the tale of your dalliance with Anna-Elizabeth._

It still surprised him that they had not done so before now. Honoria had certainly said enough to lead people to that conclusion, but her lack of acquaintance with the truth had led most to simply dismiss her accusations, he knew, and the last time he had seen her and publicly called her a liar had allowed others to dismiss her tales as petty jealousy.

He ran a hand over his jaw and thought hard. Beth was a defenseless woman alone in a city with no friends other than his mother and sister, and he wasn't at all certain his mother could be counted a friend. She had agreed to do her Christian duty and shelter Beth, but James still thought she would prefer her son's mistress left her home. He also understood that by allowing Beth to remain in their house, she might be lending credence to the Camerons' stories. That they were true, was not the point, James thought, but the appearance it gave, especially when coupled with what people were apparently willing to believe about his supposed role at Pembroke, did.

Then again, Charles Town had been home to far greater scandals, though few involved the combination of adultery, unnatural tastes in lovers, and the extermination of an entire village.

He sighed, finished reading. _I fear that when she knows what is being said, that she will be even more vulnerable, will insist on setting out of her own, for God knows the woman is as headstrong as they come._

James knew it was true, and he also knew that when he wrote his reply, it would be difficult to avoid words like _pot, kettle, _and _black_.

Katy's letters were full of Toby Henderson, to James's grateful relief. It appeared that the rumors were having no effect on his sister's prospects, and from her gossip about balls and parties, it seemed his purported sins had yet to touch her. She wrote of the men with whom she danced, the friends with whom she visited, and those who asked after him. In her last letter, though, she finally mentioned Pembroke. All she wrote was that she didn't believe it for a moment, was certain it could not be true, and that warmed James. She didn't mention the rumors about Beth, and he tried to decide if polite society had decided to protect her or if she simply refused to acknowledge it, even to him.

It was tempting to set Beth's letter aside and write his mother and Katy. They would be short notes since he had already sent the letters he'd written them. With any luck, Beth's letter would be like others he'd received from her, filled with how she felt about him, but even that was fraught with peril—emotional, at least. It could well be she believed the lies, and it could be that she did, indeed, know the gossip about the two of them, so he couldn't count on her remaining steadfast when he wasn't there with her, wasn't there to reassure her.

He tapped the letter against the palm of his other hand and considered whether to delay reading it or to plunge right into it. Through his open tent flaps, he watched Jorie stalk across the grounds, considered that this rare day of rest could end at any moment, and decided to read it.

Beth's first words made him smile: _I do not believe this for a moment._ The smile turned to a grin as he continued reading: _Anyone who truly knew you would know what utter nonsense it is. I cannot countenance that these people you call friends could possibly believe you capable of this._ Her anger at what she termed his neighbors' betrayal of James spilled over three pages, and it did James good to know she held faith in him even as he acknowledged that he did not completely deserve it. He would have done it, would have followed orders to prevent Tavington from having him court martialed and executed, but he was glad not to have done it.

When her anger and disgust finally ran out, she turned to more personal matters. She owned she had been ill. She wrote that she had planned to establish her own household, but an encounter with Will had convinced her to remain with James's mother for as long as she would have her. James's blood ran cold as he read that, and he quickly turned to her next paragraph, hoped she would detail that encounter with her husband. What he read made him want to kill Will even more than he previously had done.

It seemed Beth had accompanied his mother and Katy to a dinner party. On their way home, they had been waylaid by Will, Michael Henderson, and two of Michael's brothers, Benjamin and Thomas. James read on in horror, remembered the last time he had encountered those four, who had been party to the beating he'd received and killing Lem. Beth downplayed it, he was certain, wrote only that they had demanded that she return to the Cameron household, that she take up her rightful place as Will's wife, and threatened to force her to do so. Beth wrote that she had told them no, that Will had no right to claim her as his wife. She further wrote that Will had made threats, had promised she'd pay for her infidelity just as James had.

_I do not know if he meant that he would beat me or if he meant that he would spread lies, _she wrote,_ but I do know he was earnest in his claims to fully ruin me. _

James didn't doubt it either, and if she thought beating would be the worst of it, he suspected she was mistaken, suspected that Will would kill her to claim her wealth, possibly her lands in her homeland if that were possible. He considered whether Will might force her to submit, and whether or not he would let Michael Henderson or one of his brothers have their way if Will could not do the job. All the Henderson brothers save Toby, after all, had made salacious comments about Beth.

He turned his attention back to her words, thoroughly heartsick at that point.

_Were there a convent here, I would consider seeking asylum there, but even I know they are unlikely to shelter me from a husband who would claim he did but seek his rights_, James read. _Instead, I shall do as your mother advises, stay inside, never go out without enough men to see that Will or others cannot repeat this, and hope that the war is soon over and you are safely home again._

While James shared that sentiment, he doubted he would soon be home. The back country rabble and the rebels in the low country were slowly beginning to best the English. In part it was unfamiliarity with the country the English fought to subdue, and in part it was English officers with more hubris than sense. On the other hand, there were gifted English officers, and if it weren't for Cornwallis's growing impatience to be in North Carolina, he would have named the general one of them. They were, however, victims of their military discipline at times when Benjamin Martin and Francis Marion, not to mention a few others, were able to surprise and elude them.

He sighed, continued reading, wished he were beside Beth so that she could do the things she wrote she'd like to do to him. Then he wondered why his mother had not mentioned the encounter with Will when she wrote. It wasn't like her. He finally concluded that Temperance didn't want him to worry—or didn't want him to come back and call Will out.

With no other options before him, he set Beth's letter aside and turned to writing the necessary responses to his letters, saving hers, once more, for last.

Little Alarice Winter interrupted him before he finished, and he realized night had begun to take over the light. The little widow looked terribly distressed, and James hid his impatience as she wrung her hands and tried not to cry. "Is it true?" she finally asked, and James noted her accent was thicker through her distress.

About to admit it, he stopped, realized she might not have discovered the object of her affections shared her gender, and asked, "Is what true?"

"That you burned that church."

James sighed. Now it was going around the camp where there were many who could dispute it but apparently had not. "No," he told her curtly, more than a little tired after writing such denials in his correspondence time and again. "We left that church standing, definitely not in flames, and the people inside alive."

"They say Colonel Tavington ordered you to burn it."

Her distress puzzled him, and he wondered exactly what version or versions of the story might be circulating. He sighed again. "He did." He organized his thoughts, and then finally just said, "Lieutenant Ramsdell lost his rank because he prevented me from carrying out the order."

The little widow looked so relieved that James figured it had been Jorie about whom she worried, not him. About to ask her who had told her he burned the church, she burst out, "I could not believe it, but one of the infantrymen swore it was true." She drew a breath and asked, "Is there nothing you can do for the lieutenant?"

Studying her, James realized she lied. She had believed it or she wouldn't have come to ask. Suddenly, he saw his future, saw a lifetime of suspicion, a lifetime of doubt, regardless of the integrity with which he had conducted his previous life. Only then did he understand that if his relationship with Beth truly came to light, it would only help persuade others he must be guilty.

Will, it seemed, would get his revenge after all, would completely ruin James and his family with him, and all it took was committing an unspeakable crime and sowing the lies that pushed the blame onto James.

"His punishment could have been far worse, Mrs. Winter," he reminded her when he could unlock his jaw.

"But it is unfair that he is punished because you did not follow orders."

Tempted to retort that life itself was unfair, James swallowed the bitter words. "Ramsdell chose to interfere," he told her instead. "He knew what the risks were." He gave her a hard stare. Then he added, though perhaps not as gently as he might have had she not blamed him for this, "I know that you have feelings for him, but it would be best if you looked elsewhere. Ramsdell cannot marry you, Mrs. Winter, and to hope he might is to bring pain to yourself."

The girl paled, and then the tears started. James closed his eyes, sighed, was about to apologize, but one of the infantry officers stuck his head in the tent. "Colonel Tavington wants the officers in the mess tent, Sir." About to ask why, the man told him. "Major Ferguson and his men were slaughtered by the rebels."


	23. Chapter 23

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 23**

The news was ugly, but James figured it did as much to show that the men the King entrusted to preserve the Colonies had been ill-chosen as it did the savagery of the rebels. Major Patrick Ferguson might have been a charming rogue, but when it came to dealing with rebels, the Scotsman managed to make more vociferous and vicious enemies than even Tavington. His colonel mostly had only Martin and his band after him: Patrick Ferguson had back country men from South and North Carolina hunting him, aided and abetted by Virginians and Kentuckians.

The Over Mountain Men and their compatriots caught up with Ferguson at King's Mountain. For a man who knew how his enemy fought, the Major had chosen poorly where to make his last stand. It hadn't helped that he had taunted his enemies with a call for their surrender so contemptuous it had actually drawn more rebels to the inevitable fight.

Slaughter, as the infantry officer who had interrupted Alarice Winter's crying pleas over Jorie's fate had called it, was an apt name for what had happened. According to Jorie, who seemed to always know the army gossip, not only had Ferguson's American Volunteers and his loyalist militia been shot down in droves, but many of them had been killed after Ferguson was killed and his captains surrendered. They had reaped what both Tavington and Tarleton had sown when they gave no quarter to defeated rebels. Several of Ferguson's surviving men had been given improper and illegal trials before being hanged. The remaining prisoners had been marched away, and the bodies of the dead had been poorly buried, mostly piled up and covered with whatever could be found—fallen timber, bark, and rocks.

Jorie told James that the widows and children of the loyalist dead had come to claim bodies the morning after battle, before the burial, but the worst was discovered by the men Cornwallis sent too late to find Ferguson: wild animals had been at the badly buried bodies. "A number of the men say they will never be able to eat pork again," Jorie said, looking a little green. James knew hogs would eat practically anything, but he'd never considered people part of that anything before. He was simply glad to not be part of the troop who had gone to King's Mountain.

In the wake of Ferguson's defeat, Lord General Cornwallis retreated from Charlotte to Winnsboro. James wished it was closer to Charles Town, but he was not so fortunate. After the Over Mountain Men's victory, the rebels' ranks swelled even as the loyalist ones dwindled.

When it became apparent that the rebels controlled the countryside surrounding them, the only way to keep the supply lines running was to send a large escort along as guards. When James realized that meant going to Charles Town, he volunteered. Jorie shook her head, stepped up and volunteered as well.

Once they were underway, she grinned at him, shook her head.

"What?" James demanded.

"It's more than obvious what attraction you seek in Charles Town."

This time, he grinned, reminded her, "No one said you had to come along."

"On the contrary." She raised her brows. "If I let you get yourself killed, my sister would never forgive me."

Though he laughed it off, he was well aware that getting killed was a very real possibility. They were occasionally harassed by rebel militia on the journey, generally when they rested at night. He was very glad at the end of the week to see Charles Town.

James was even more glad to see his family.

His mother met him in the foyer, threw her arms around him with a bit more enthusiasm than she'd ever shown him before. James didn't mind in the least, though he had expected her to take in his trail-worn appearance and keep him at arm's length until he had time to do something about the dirt and mud. Katy, came running down the stairs at a pace that made James fear she'd miss her footing and tumble down them before she took their mother's place. Both women fired questions at him, and he struggled to get in the answers before the next one came at him. All the while, he wondered where Beth was, but neither woman gave him the opportunity to ask.

He heard a sound and looked up. Beth stood on the landing at the top of the stairs, and James drank in the sight of her. Unlike his sister, she descended with more care, took each step slowly. He couldn't take his eyes off her. James was tempted to set Katy aside and rush up the stairs to meet her. When his sister finally released him, he started toward them.

His mother hooked a firm hand over his arm and very softly said, "James."

There was no mistaking the censure in her voice, but he chose to ignore it. If his mother was going to renew her protestations over his relationship with Beth, she had waited too long for him to listen. Beth, by then, had but three more steps to reach him. She stepped down two of them before he put his hands on her waist and pulled her close, kissed her. He could care less what Temperance Wilkins might say about it. Beth's hands cradled his cheeks, and when he released her mouth and swung her off the last stair and onto the floor of the foyer, she met his eyes, smiled gently at him, and whispered his name. His mouth was on hers almost before she finished voicing it.

Given a choice, he would have simply taken her to bed, but he was going to have to be civilized—not to mention that he should probably convince Bess to send up a bath for him first since the trip to Winnsboro had been a cold, rainy, muddy slog, and the journey to Charles Town hadn't been much of an improvement.

Beth, though, didn't seem to mind in the least the mud and dirt that clung to him since she settled against him, smiled up at him, and said softly, "I'm so very glad you're here."

He pressed another kiss on her, told her, "Not half as glad as I am."

"Did Jorie come with you?" 

It wasn't hard to see the worry on her face. He lifted a hand, settled it against her cheek and told her, "Gone to see the men quartered before coming here." He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone.

Before he could add more, Bess trundled in. "You should have sent word ahead, Mr. James." He grinned, released Beth and went to the woman who had, essentially raised him. If his housekeeper was startled that he gave her a hard hug she returned after a moment, she hid it behind a gruff, "You need feeding—and a good bath."

He laughed, too happy to be with the people he loved most to be offended. The only thing that could make it better was if they were at Oak Point.

"Miss Anna-Elizabeth could use more feeding, too," she said over her shoulder as she headed toward the back of the house.

When he looked at Beth, her face was deep red. It was true she had obviously lost weight again, probably due to her recent illness. Apparently, she didn't like having his attention called to it. He flashed her a grin, but she simply blushed more deeply. His mother was the one who spoke. "Upstairs with you, James. Bess is right. You're filthy."

"That didn't bother you when I walked in the door," he teased her.

James could tell his mother didn't appreciate his levity. She frowned, and as he headed up the stairs, he wondered if that was because he hadn't simply given Beth a polite greeting, had, instead, greeted her the way he would have greeted a wife. As he turned toward his room once he reached the landing, he decided that wasn't exactly accurate. If he'd been married to Beth, he would likely have carried her upstairs with him, asked her to wash his back—other bits, too, if she was so inclined—assuming he hadn't taken her straight to bed after all.

Caleb waited for him at his bedchamber door, and James handed his bag to him. The tub was already there, positioned in front of the fireplace, and though it was a cool, damp November evening, he sincerely doubted he'd freeze if they had forgone a fire. He was more interested in a bath, food, and Beth, who would, he was certain, make sure he didn't suffer from cold. Two maids came in with hot water, followed by two more, and James nearly asked why they hadn't set the tub up downstairs where it was closer to heated water and would take less time to fill, but he held his tongue, waited for the women to leave before taking a seat in a chair and pulling off his boots.

His valet had set his bag down, which was just as well since James doubted there was a clean article of clothing in it, before he crossed to the wardrobe and began pulling out garments. Tiredness washed over him, and he nearly told Caleb to just leave it, but his mother and Katy waited downstairs, Bess was going to the trouble to find him food, and he was expected to put in an appearance.

And then there was Beth.

As he peeled off his stockings, he smiled at the thought of her. She'd looked pretty in the sage green dress she'd worn, even if it hung a bit loosely on her. Her red-gold hair had grown a bit since it had been shorn, though it was still far too short. Not, he reflected, that all women wore their hair long, but most of those who didn't wore wigs or false hair to hide the fact. He was glad Beth didn't.

It took the maids two more trips to get enough water in the tub for him to bathe, and he thanked them. Once they were gone and Caleb followed them to bring water to rinse with, James stripped and eased into the first hot bath he'd had in months. The temptation was to linger, but he thought of the women downstairs and Bess's food and decided to make quick but thorough work of it. When the door opened, he was scrubbing his hair.

"Just set it next to the tub," he told Caleb, "and then you can retire for the evening."

"That's very kind of you, but I've been sleeping here."

His eyes popped open, and he lifted his head, watched as Beth approached, a bucket of water in each hand, one of which steamed. She set the buckets next to the tub and gathered her skirts, knelt next to it.

"You'll get soap in your eyes," she warned softly, moved closer to the tub. James watched as she smiled at him, leaned closer, and kissed him, softly at first, and then more firmly.

"You could get naked and join me," he suggested.

Amusement lit her eyes, curved her lips, and one of her brows lifted. "There's not nearly enough room for both of us."

It was true, but James suspected they could find a way to make it work. Beth, though, gathered her skirts again and moved behind him, took over scrubbing his head. "I'll have Sukie trim this for you tomorrow," she told him. It had grown long enough that James generally clubbed it back in a queue like many of the Dragoons, though he preferred it cut shorter. She rinsed his hair and then picked up the flannel and the soap and began to wash the rest of him.

The glide of soap and rag that separated his skin from her hand soothed, and James savored it, wished it was simply her hand. He could think of a few of her other parts he wouldn't mind rubbing against him, especially if she bared them first. "I'm surprised my mother let you up here."

"She didn't."

He shot a look over his shoulder, met her eyes, and she lifted her brows. Beth applied a little pressure to his shoulder, and she sat a little more forward so she could continue to wash his back, reach more of him.

"Your mother has decided it's best to ignore what she prefers not to see," Beth told him. "It's partly how we maintain peace."

He thought about that, considered her words. James wondered what else his mother chose not to see that involved Beth. "Does that include the fact that you've been sleeping in my bed?"

Beth smothered a laugh. James again looked over his shoulder at her. "There's a children's story often told in my homeland about a snow princess who invades the home of a family of miners. The family is gone, and she is very hungry, so she eats their evening meal, which they've left warming in the oven. Once she has eaten, she grows tired, so she wanders their cottage, pokes around in their belongings, and when she finds the bedroom, she settles for a nap in one of the beds."

She paused to rinse his back and then moved to the side of the tub to begin again on the front of him.

"And?" he prompted, curious how this connected to her sleeping in his bed.

Her smile broadened. "The family comes home to find their dinner gone and obvious signs that someone has been there uninvited, gone through their things," she said as she swiped at his face, scrubbed at a spot on his chin. "Because they are poor and have little, they are angry, believe they have been robbed of what little they did own, but the mother finds a little bread, a little butter, and feeds the children. Once they have eaten and washed their faces. . . ." She rinsed his with the rag and then then wiped the excess moisture away.

James opened his eyes, noticed her cocked head and an assessing, narrow-eyed frown directed at him. She dipped the rag in the warm water and picked up the soap. He wondered if there was still dirt on his face, but she started on his neck. "You will need to shave," she told him.

His lips twitched. Shaving was the least of his worries, but, he thought, looking at her delicate skin, she had a point—unless he wanted to mark her. Because if she was sleeping in his bed, that pale skin of hers was going to be in close contact with his face. Her hand worked over his shoulder and before dropping to begin scrubbing across his chest.

"Then what?"

She frowned at him. "You get dressed and go down to eat whatever Bess has terrorized the cook into preparing for you."

"The story," he corrected.

"Ah." She moved the rag to his other shoulder. "The reason she was in the forest was because her father, the King, had remarried, and his new wife was jealous of Isolde. When Isolde learned her stepmother planned to poison her, she ran away." Beth's lips twitched. "Given her name supposedly means 'ice battle,' she strikes me as a rather silly kind of princess in this particular circumstance."

James waited for her to continue the story rather than criticize, though he was amused by her assessment. For his part, this Isolde sounded fairly sensible. If someone was intent on murder, it might be better to run and hide than make a stand, particularly if one wasn't certain who could and could not be counted on to protect her. He studied Beth, wondered if she had felt the same as Isolde when she left her home, came to the colonies and married Will. Perhaps Helen Cameron stood in for the wicked stepmother in her case.

"Isolde was awakened when the children shouted, 'Who's that sleeping in our bed?'" Beth continued. "She was about to flee, but the mother of the family in whose house she had taken refuge caught her arm, stopped her."

The washcloth stroked lower, and James nearly let it distract him from Beth's story. "Then what?" he prompted softly when it didn't appear she would continue.

She chewed her lip a moment. "The mother's hand and arm froze solid, but she wasn't afraid."

"Wait," James said, frowned, certain she'd skipped something.

"Ice princess, James," Beth reminded him with a look that suggested he not interrupt again. Thinking back to the beginning of the tale, he recalled that she had called Isolde a snow princess then. He asked for clarification, and Beth explained that there were many versions of the story, some of which called her a snow princess and others of which called her an ice princess. He wondered if the name was intended to be literal or figurative, but he didn't ask, willing to go along with the impossible because it prolonged Beth bathing him and because he was curious where her story would go. "She put the children to bed, then she and her husband convinced Isolde to tell them her tale."

Beth rinsed him, reached for the soap once more and began on his legs. He considered pointing out the territory she'd failed to cover, but then he decided she might be saving the best part for last.

"They agreed to hide her," she continued, and Isolde took on the housekeeping and cooking, though at first her attempts were terrible."

He reached a hand out, trailed a finger along her cheek and neck. "It's that useless princess thing again, isn't it?" he murmured, remembering that particular conversation with her.

She flashed a grin at him, shrugged, and ran the cloth along his shin. "Many months passed, and her kingdom moved beyond mourning her loss, and the family where she had taken refuge accepted her as one of their own family."

James noticed she seemed to suddenly take a serious interest in his toes, and he wondered if she saw parallels with herself there. Neither she nor Jorie had said a word about how their family saw Beth's having married an American colonist. He studied her profile, wondered if she wished she'd never left home, had remained there and done whatever it was she did in her native land. He still couldn't take seriously the idea of her as a nun, but there might have been other things she regretted losing. For the first time, he wondered if there had been a man there, one she wished she'd chosen rather than Will.

"I assume there's a prince in this story," he prompted, and if his voice held a tone that might give away his darker thoughts, he found he didn't care. He'd like to know if there was someone to whom she might still be able to return.

This time her smile was small and bitter. "In such stories, there's always a prince to rescue the princess in distress." Quietly said, her words had James focused on her, searching her eyes. She swallowed, and then she gave him a solemn look. "This story doesn't have a happy ending, James. I don't know why I even began telling it."

That could well be their story, he realized, a story with an unhappy ending, and he was suddenly sorry he'd asked. Then again, it might be best to know where she thought what was between them was headed. He was no prince, but he'd certainly greeted her as a wife, and she was currently returning the favor by acting the part rather than that of the stiff little princess whom he had sometimes glimpsed when she first came to South Carolina. It occurred to him that like the Princess Isolde she had described, she might have assigned herself a different role in their story, and before he found himself abandoned, he'd like to have a bit of warning so that he could prepare himself for what might be coming.

"How does this story end?"

From her expression, he suspected she might know what he truly asked. Her hand paused on his ankle. "He cannot save her."

"That's not entirely true," another voice said, and James and Beth both looked at the doorway where Jorie leaned against the frame. "You forget, Anna, that there are many versions of 'The Ice Princess.' My favorite was always the one where the Prince's kiss transforms Isolde from ice to flesh and blood."

Beth's sister straightened from where she stood, told him, "Your mother says you've dawdled enough, and if you aren't asleep to get downstairs before the food is cold." She turned her eyes on her sister. "I think you should leave James to do just that."

James caught Beth's hand as she moved to rise, met her eyes, but she blushed and eased her hand from his and left them.

Jorie stayed in the doorway.

"What ending was Beth leading up to?" he asked when he was certain she was out of earshot.

Her sister sighed. "Prince Matthias, who lived in the neighboring kingdom, didn't believe Isolde was dead, so he searched for her, longed to return her to her rightful place and oust her stepmother. When he heard about the pretty, white-haired, adopted daughter of the miner with the snow-white skin, he was certain he'd found her. Isolde was not happy to see him at first, mainly because she thought he had come to kill her for her stepmother, but Matthias convinced her she was wrong, persuaded her to return with him. Isolde, joyful at the idea of returning home to her beloved father, kissed Matthias in gratitude, but that kiss froze him solidly through. Nothing could thaw him, and Isolde, who had fallen in love with him, died from grief at what she had caused."

She dropped her crossed arms and said, "If your bathwater isn't cold enough to freeze you through, you should probably finish and get downstairs before your dinner is."

"You sound like my mother," he told her with a grin.

"I'm no one's mother," she assured him grimly. "Mainly, I want my turn in the bathwater before I'm in danger of becoming an ice princess like Isolde."

Jorie left him then, and he finished washing, thought about the story the two sisters had told him. He couldn't bear the idea of causing Beth grief, particularly when others already had, but he wasn't willing to let her go. If she would have him, even on the scandalous terms that were all he could offer, he would keep her.

Downstairs, the women joined him while he ate. It was long after they had dined, and Katy kept up a stream of chatter, mostly gossip while he did. His mother contributed now and then, but Beth remained silent. He shot a worried look at her from time to time, but the melancholy mood Jorie had interrupted seemed to linger.

Finished with her own bath, Jorie joined them, took a seat beside her sister, and the two of them spoke quietly until both James and Jorie had finished eating.

Given the lateness of the hour, his mother and Katy excused themselves and went to their beds. Jorie walked up the stairs with James and Beth, who hesitated on the landing. Obviously tired, Jorie snorted, shook her head, and told her sister, "Go finish James's bedtime story," before she retired to the room she had been given.

"No story," he told Beth when he had closed the door behind them. He drew her toward the turned down bed and added, "I would hate to fall asleep and disappoint you."

Finally, she smiled, and James pulled her to him. "Jorie says you need rest."

He'd get it, but he wasn't ready yet. He settled her closer against him, and bent, kissed her, and then whispered, "Not at the moment." He caught her mouth hungrily.

Beth began to unfasten his clothes, and he returned the favor. He was glad to be out of uniform for once, had a moment where he wished there was no need to ever put it on again. Just as she started on his pants, a soft knock sounded on the door. James let out a number of oaths as he reluctantly released Beth and went to see who dared to interrupt them this time.

An obviously upset Caleb stood outside the door. "Bess said to tell you, Mr. James, that you best come downstairs."

Looking over his shoulder to where Beth stood, held her gaping bodice against her breasts, he noticed how pale she had gone, then dismissed it as embarrassment. He told Caleb he'd be there. He went back to Beth for a quick kiss and to get his shirt. "I'll be right back," he promised.

"Don't go."

He frowned at her, then sorted his shirt out, pulled it over his head and started to do up the ties.

"Don't go, James," she repeated more forcefully.

As he tucked the hem in his pants, he asked, "Why not?"

"All of Charles Town likely knows you're here," she said softly, and her voice shook. "Will's been boasting that he will challenge and kill you."

His eyes narrowed on her. "You've seen Will." It wasn't said as such, but he definitely meant it as a question. It was all he could do not to shout it at her.

She shook her head, paled. "Luiza D'Oliviera told me." As he stared at her, color washed her face. "We've become friends since you were last here." She presented him with her back. "Do up my dress," she ordered.

"Take it off and wait," he countered.

Her eyes sparked when she looked over her shoulder at him. "Do it up, or I'll follow you downstairs with it undone." An eyebrow slowly lifted to punctuate the order, and James was about to refuse on principle despite the image he had of her doing just that.

"She means it," Jorie told him dryly from the door.

James rounded on her. "Does privacy have a different meaning where the two of you come from?"

Jorie grinned broadly. "Anna and I grew up in households where there is no such thing as privacy. If it isn't a family member constantly underfoot, it's a servant—or worse yet, some court functionary or government official."

He turned back to Beth, swiftly did up the buttons on the back of her bodice and then stalked from his room. He went down the stairs at a rate somewhat slower than Katy's earlier but still fast since temper drove him. He'd been about to finally have Beth to himself only to be rudely interrupted by some imbecile at the door, and if this meant he had to put on the uniform and leave immediately, he might well desert.

If it was Will, as Beth obviously feared, then he was going to shoot the bastard once and for all. Of course he would have to find a pistol, he thought, and damned near turned around to retrieve one.

Perhaps it was the noise he made on the stairs, but someone rushed from the parlor into the foyer. James's temper was replaced by shock quickly followed by concern, especially when Beth pushed past him and raced to the bedraggled little girl before them.

"Arie!" she breathed and quickly searched the little girl for damage before hugging her tightly to her.

The little princess burst promptly into tears.

That more than anything disconcerted James. The child had always seemed indestructible before, but the way she clung to her sister and bawled shook him. It was easy to forget that Arianna was a child, but in that moment she was most definitely a young, frightened girl. Beth quietly murmured to her, steered her into the parlor, and James looked at Jorie who had joined him at the foot of the stairs.

Jorie shrugged. "She may be given to a melodramatic temperament," she admitted, "but tears have never before been Arie's method." She sighed. "You might as well turn in, James. I suspect it'll be a while before Anna gets the story out of her, and even then, I assure you Arie will insist on staying with her."

"Don't suppose she'd settle for you?" James asked gruffly, more than a little disgruntled since he wanted to insist Beth stay with him instead.

"Apparently, I lack the mothering instinct," Jorie told him dryly.

James could easily hear the little princess making that accusation, and he looked closer at Jorie, realized the comment she'd just repeated needled her. Just as it was easy to forget Arie was a child, it was sometimes equally easy to forget Jorie was a woman. He nearly denied her claim, but he'd seen no real softness in the woman beside him.

Bess entered then, a tray in her hands, on the way to the parlor. "That child turned up alone, Mr. James," she told him softly. "Not another soul with her, and asked if you were here."

"She didn't ask for her sister?" He frowned, would have thought the girl would have asked for Beth since she could hardly have known James was in Charles Town.

"No, Sir," his housekeeper told him. "She asked for you. I've got Maisie making up a bed for her in Miss Anna-Elizabeth's room." She gave him a hard stare then, and James bit back a smile at the fact that she was obviously well aware where Beth spent her nights—and would spend what was left of this one if he had his way. She walked away, with a muttered comment about no baggage.

He met Jorie's bemused expression. "Your servants don't always know their places, do they?"

"Shut up," he said, "or I'll tell your sisters how Alarice Winter kissed the hell out of you just before you climbed into the saddle when we left." He could picture how the little German widow had run up to Jorie as she was about to mount her horse, grabbed her, and planted a solid kiss on her as Jorie tried valiantly to fight her off without hurting the other woman. James shook his head, left Jorie standing there, her mouth slightly agape, and went to see why Arie would have sought him and not one of her sisters.

The little princess still sobbed in Beth's arms on one of the settees. James sat down beside Arie and met her sister's eyes over her head. Beth shook her head. As he laid a hand over one of hers where it rested on the girl's back, James quietly asked, "Arie?"

The girl turned her head a little where it lay against Beth's chest and eyed him. She tried to stop the tears, sniffled.

"Why were you looking for me?"

She answered with a wail and buried her face against Beth. After a few moments, she got herself under a little more control and said something James couldn't quite make out. Beth, though, must have understood it because all color bled from her face and she looked as though she might faint.

James watched, squeezed the hand he still covered, and wondered if something had happened to their mother. Arie had been travelling with the Princess Falken, after all, and while James might believe the woman should have stayed away from a country at war, the least the woman could have done was to leave her youngest daughter somewhere safe if she was going to abandon her. Looking at Beth, though, he wondered if the woman had died.

"Arie," Beth breathed.

There was a mumbled response.

"Tell James."

The child shook her head, kept her face buried against Beth.

"You must tell him," Beth insisted.

Given the child's distress, he was about to suggest Beth simply do so, but there was a look on her face that stopped him. Somehow, he now doubted it involved the Princess Audrianna. He searched his brain for what it could be that would make the child afraid to tell him. The good Lord knew the little princess had said any number of outrageous things to him in the past, so he couldn't imagine what had her hiding against her sister and refusing to speak to him.

Jorie took a seat on the chair to Beth's left. She leaned forward and said softly, "If you cannot tell James, Arie, you may tell me."

A torrent of words in a language that sounded vaguely like French but which James could not follow flooded from the girl. He looked at Beth, frowned as he trained his ears on Arie's rapid, hiccupping words. He heard his own name, caught Will's, then Honoria's, and finally Beth's. His eyes narrowed. When the child stopped, James waited impatiently for someone to explain. Jorie asked some questions, and the little princess answered.

Not once did either of them look at James, not once did Arie say something in English so that he could understand what she had told her sister, and while that made him angry, at least the child was talking.

Jorie stood, and when he looked over at her, James noticed she was more angry than he had ever seen her. She beckoned, and he squeezed Beth's hand once more before following her sister out. He gestured to his office, and when they were inside, he closed the door.

"Will and his militia friends stopped a convoy," Jorie bit out. "Arie and our mother were travelling with them for safety. Maman was less than sentient, shall we say, and when Will recognized her, he took Arie. She's been with Honoria here in Charles Town while he tried to discover where you were. Arie heard him tell his sister you had arrived and that he intended to try and trade Arie for Anna. If you didn't agree, they planned to kill her."

Furious, James decided he was going straight to the Camerons and dealing with Will once and for all.

"That isn't all, James."

Jorie's voice stopped his thoughts. Her gray eyes were grave. "He told Arie you burned that church at Pembroke and that he would burn Anna—her, too—if she even thought of causing trouble." Jorie put her hands over her face, rubbed it, while James tried not to be angry that Arie had apparently believed the lie—not that Will would harm her but that James had killed his neighbors—and he was surprised at the hurt he felt that she no longer trusted him. Then, he returned to the fact that she had asked for him, had surely been told he was there, so why would she not tell him what she had Jorie?

"She climbed out a third-floor window onto a tree. Thank God those oaks of yours are strong enough to hold her weight," Jorie told him. "Then she made her way down the tree and to here."

"Your mother?" he bit out, still smarting from what felt like betrayal from Arie.

"Fine, as far as Arie knows," Jorie sighed. "Knowing Audrianna, that's most definitely so. Like a cat, that woman inevitably lands on her feet."

James paced. "We can't leave them here," he said.

"We can't take them with us," Jorie countered. "An army camp, especially one on the move and increasingly under fire is no place for either of my sisters—yours, either."

He thought, paced back and forth. "They can't go to Oak Point."

"No," Jorie agreed. After all, these days the British officers looted and burned out loyalists as well as rebels. They didn't care that some families sided with them and that their actions alienated what allies they still had in South Carolina. If James could have guaranteed his family's safety, though, he would have sent them there if for no other reason than that they would be far from Will and the rest of the Cameron family. His mother had told him in her last letter that the Camerons had sold Hart's Crossing, just as he had thought they might after Beth relinquished the land her father-in-law bequeathed her.

He turned, strode to his desk, and opened the drawer where the dueling pistols were. When he sat the case on the desktop, Jorie asked, "What do you plan to do with those?"

"Kill Will."

A/N: The fairy tale was a mishmash, and I'm sure you can recognize some of the elements. Don't know why I took that detour.


	24. Chapter 24

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 24**

James barely got one of the buckles undone before Jorie snatched the pistol case off his desk. "I didn't get you out of a previous duel only to let you involve yourself in yet another," she bit out. "For God's sake, James! I have one sister crying her heart out, don't make the other one do so as well."

"Will has gone too far this time, and this must stop now," James ground out.

"Anna doesn't need a prince," Jorie bit out, referencing their earlier conversation, though James noticed she didn't say her sister didn't need to be saved, "and I suspect Arie would simply run roughshod over one, but my sisters both love you—God help them—and I'll not see you dead or in prison because you let temper get the better part of you."

There was no question he was in a temper because what he really wanted was to do as he'd said and kill Will. James bit out, "Then you challenge him, Jorie, because he's become like a mad dog. Someone has to put him down if he thinks he can snatch a child and ransom her for Beth."

It was true, he thought, and the rage still ran hot through him. How the woman in front of him could believe he should wait, should risk her sister's life, he simply couldn't fathom. He supposed it was because she was a woman, but he had seen her on a battlefield. She certainly didn't shy away from killing there. As he glared at Jorie, he couldn't help wondering what Benjamin Martin had been doing when Will took the child from her mother. Martin's children were everything to him, and he couldn't imagine the man condoning what Will had done.

Jorie's head tilted, and she coolly studied him for several moments. Apparently, she had been thinking along the same lines. "Surely that man—Martin?" James curtly nodded. "Surely Martin doesn't let his men engage in child stealing."

"They're militia," he said, heard the contempt of his English commanders in his sneer but didn't care. "They aren't bound to service, can choose to leave if they wish. Perhaps Will finally had his fill of playing rebel and wishes to devote himself to gaining revenge."

"From what I've seen, your rebels are mostly out for sanctioned revenge, so he might as well have stayed—assuming he really has left Martin's militia. Not only that, but if he'd truly wanted Beth," Jorie told him, "he should have gone straight for her, not Arie. My sister is still enough afraid of him that all he would have had to do was tell her he had Arie, and Anna would likely have done whatever he asked to save her."

Her statement added a new level of worry to James's concerns about Beth. All along he had feared she would somehow be persuaded to return to the Camerons. It was untenable from his point of view because of his absolute certainty that it would be the equivalent of her choosing death. He couldn't be with her at all times, which would be his first choice, nor could he walk away from the King's army, no matter how much he might wish to do so. That left her vulnerable, and, recalling that letter he'd received from her describing an ugly encounter with her husband, James was convinced that Will very definitely wanted to punish Beth in the most painful way he could devise. "This can't stand," he bit out.

"Agreed," Jorie said. She set the pistols back on his desk. "Your law is not on our side in this, though, so we shall have to give more rational thought to how to resolve the matter and free her of that infernal family."

James was not in the mood to be rational, and Jorie's plea for him to be so didn't move him. There came a time, he thought, when it was best if men didn't behave rationally because sometimes the end result of that lack of rationality proved to be the most appropriate one. In this case, he believed seeing Will dead at his feet was about the only rational response to the repeated insults to his family—and he had come to think of the du Mares as part of that family. One thing he'd seen in this war was that for others there was often a time and a place for savagery, and he thought he might well have reached the point where it was time to hunt Will down and put an end to him.

The expression on Jorie's face indicated she quite likely knew what he thought. When she spoke, she did so in a careful, measured tone: "In my country, we believe the best revenge is meticulously plotted so that it does the maximum damage without harming those who are not the target." She gave him a long, steady stare, then added, "For tonight, drink too much, take my sister to bed, seize any distraction you can, James, but don't go after Will, not tonight, not when he will most expect it and you act solely on emotion."

"I thought Arianna would insist on having Beth with her," he said testily. The truth was, once the little princess had turned up worse for wear and Beth had gone to her, he had reconciled himself to a lonely night. The sleep might do him good, but he doubted there would be any sleep without Beth beside him. He equally acknowledged there would likely have been little sleep if they had been able to complete what they had been about to start and Beth had remained with him for the night.

"I shall endeavor to convince Arie to sleep with me," she sighed. "Anna will be upset enough, I'm sure, and you would provide her a better distraction than a child who will probably sleep like the dead now that she is safe."

Fairly certain this wasn't the end of it and that Arie was unlikely to sleep undisturbed, he snorted, asked, "And when she wakes in the night screaming, how will you reassure her then?" He raised his brows. "You are the woman who claims to lack maternal feelings."

"I didn't say I lacked the feelings," she snapped, "I said I didn't have the instincts."

He remembered his own occasional nightmares as a child, and he suspected that after what Will had said to her, if Arianna had one, she would be unlikely to settle until she saw Beth was truly alright. The child was strong-willed and used to getting what she wanted, so he reconciled himself to a night alone in his bed. He sighed. "Leave her with Beth." With that, the anger cooled to a simmer.

Crossing to where he kept the whiskey, Jorie pulled the stopper on the decanter and upended two glasses, splashed some in each. Handing him his, she asked, "What would do Will the most harm?"

He snorted. "Telling all of Charles Town about his liaison with Michael Henderson."

Jorie smiled, and it was a vicious little smile. Despite that, she chided him with, "You really aren't very good at this, are you, James?" She tasted her rye and then added, "That harms the Hendersons as well, and if what you told me about your sister's affections is true, then it harms your Katy, too. What else?"

James dutifully thought about it, only to realize that Will had never shown many vices to the rest of their society. He couldn't think of any real rumors or misconduct that hadn't also been attributed to almost every other man in their social set and easily dismissed because of it. He knew that Will's abuse of Beth would gain hardly anything but, perhaps, a little sympathy for Beth, and Will could claim that her near starvation had been his mother's act not his since he had been away with the militia when it happened. Arianna's abduction, though, would be a different matter were it not for the fact that it would be the word of a child against that of the entire Cameron family. James had a feeling anything the little princess had to say would be ignored. The Camerons might have fallen in financial status, but they still had social status.

He told Jorie as much, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Then we shall have to find something, think harder, because you cannot go against him without something you can use. He must be utterly ruined."

The musing note in her voice was belied by the flinty hardness of her eyes. James would prefer, at this juncture, to simply put a bullet in Will Cameron, but doing so would have ramifications beyond whatever sanctions society made against him. He acknowledged that his future, a future in which he wanted Beth to play a role, could be completely undone if he simply went and shot Will down. After all, that future relied heavily on his managing to do no further damage to himself. Pembroke would cast a long shadow, he knew, so anything else that would besmirch his reputation needed to be avoided.

Rational behavior, James decided, might be the mark of a gentleman, but at the moment he didn't feel remotely like one. He thought irrational behavior might still be his best option.

"Alright," he agreed quietly, told himself it was only because he was unwilling to leave Beth and Arianna there alone and unprotected, despite knowing that's exactly what they would be when he and Jorie returned to Winnsboro. "I shall give it some thought, but he's a clever man, and he has hidden his tracks well. He seems to have an instinct for exactly how close to disaster he may dance before he needs to withdraw. The only thing that occurs to me is to force him to make a public misstep."

Jorie let him pour more rye in her glass, and when he had replenished his own, she stared thoughtfully at him. "The sister, Honoria, is less cautious. Perhaps she is the key to his downfall."

"I confess it would not break my heart to see her pay penance for her own sins," James said, then tossed back his rye, "but I think you'll find that while she is less cautious than Will, her sins are likely less valuable to this particular endeavor."

Jorie snorted. "Men always underestimate the levels to which women truly will stoop and the penalties society imposes on us for even minor transgressions."

James's brows shot up.

"I know my gender, James," she said. "I've had the unique experience of viewing us from both perspectives, and that has afforded me an understanding few ever have. Honoria Cameron is the worst kind of female, and she's dangerous because she understands how to manipulate both sexes."

He considered that, knew she was right. "Honoria is impatient and lacks caution in the heat of the moment."

"And that is a weapon, if we stage the scene correctly." Jorie crossed her arms. "All we need is a way to goad her to actions or words that will reveal what we need without unduly damaging Beth—or you."

Perhaps it was because he was suddenly very tired, but James doubted they could manage that since Honoria had a lot in common with Colonel Tavington and his notion of taking no prisoners. He shook his head ruefully. "Good luck."

Jorie's teeth flashed in a feral grin. "Luck will have nothing to do with it."

A soft knock on the door stopped the conversation, and James found a white-faced Beth on the other side when he opened it. "Arie is sleeping," she said softly. She looked at her sister. "She has nothing but the dress she's wearing, and I shall need something she can wear while it is cleaned, perhaps one of your shirts."

"James's servants took all but what I'm wearing to launder," Jorie told her.

James offered, "She can have one of my shirts until morning. I'm certain my mother likely has something of Katy's still packed away that might fit her." The choices would be slim here, better if they had been at Oak Point where the attics held untold boxes and trunks of castoff clothing.

Beth gave him a tired smile, and James considered what she might look like wearing only one of his shirts. He would give her one of the thin ones that would be like the shift he'd seen her in next to the river that long ago afternoon, one that would cover but reveal. Then he decided he'd far rather have her completely bare where he could easily touch as well as look.

"I've told James I'll take Arie tonight," Jorie said, and from her tone of voice, James suspected she had a fair idea what he'd been thinking.

Her sister turned to face her. "It might be best if she stayed with me."

Only a little mollified by her obvious regret, James wondered what else would conspire to interrupt them before he got a chance to make love to Beth.

"So James said," Jorie put in, her dry amusement not hard to read, and James might have hit her for that if she'd been a man because Beth suddenly looked crushed.

After he shot Jorie a glare, he gathered Beth to him, kissed her in a way that could leave no doubt about how much he'd like to take her upstairs and undress her or about how he would like to keep her occupied until he had to leave again. "I'll fetch a shirt," he said, released her reluctantly.

"Go with him," Jorie said with a grin. "I'll sit with Arie until you get back—eventually."

Upstairs in his room, as he opened his wardrobe to find a shirt for the child, he asked Beth if there was anything else Arianna had added to her story after he and Jorie had left them.

"No, but I did tell her that Will lied about the church at Pembroke."

"She believe you?" he asked as he handed her the garment he'd chosen.

Beth hugged it to her chest, met his eyes. "Arie knows you would not do such a thing, didn't really believe Will when he told her" she explained, "but that was not what I wanted her to tell you."

A lift of a brow prompted her to continue.

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth, and those green eyes of hers shifted to angry. "Will told Honoria that they plan to ambush you and the supply train when you leave Charles Town. Arie claims Will plans to shoot you—with a rifle from a hidden vantage point as these Americans apparently prefer to do."

That Will didn't want to face him didn't bother him. That others might die so Will could kill him did. "Did she tell Jorie this?"

Beth shook her head and gave a tiny smile. "Jorie frightens her, especially in uniform."

James grinned. "Jorie frightens many people—especially in uniform. Your sister is particularly deadly on the battlefield."

"She can be lethal in a ballroom as well," Beth told him with a smile.

It wasn't hard to imagine Jorie cutting her way through a social event, tongue in place of sword, particularly since the woman seemed to have little tolerance for anything she considered frivolous—and James had figured out she had a healthy contempt for most of the kinds of activities those in her social circle favored. He supposed it had to do with being a woman who had spent a considerable amount of time as an adult dressed as and acting as a man. It put a completely different shade on how she had treated Alarice. She was unwilling to hurt the woman despite being uncomfortably stuck in terms of what she could do or say in order to discourage her.

As he studied Beth, James decided he wasn't the least interested in Jorie or her ideas or problems at the moment, so he leaned in and claimed a kiss from Beth. "Are you sure you cannot simply put Arie to bed and then put me in mine?"

A smile tipped her lips. "That is a most tempting offer, Mr. Wilkins, and in other circumstances I would be more than happy to assist you, but I don't want Arie to wake up alone in a strange place." She forestalled his attempt to remind her of Jorie's offer. "Jorie has never dealt with children, and she has certainly never dealt much with Arie, so it's unlikely that she would know how to calm our sister if she has night terrors because of the Camerons."

James's hands settled on Beth's hips, pulled her into him before he bent and kissed her. He was going to give in, but not just yet. "All I've been able to think about since I last saw you was this." He parted her lips with another kiss, and when she moaned, moved against him, he thought there might be merit in Jorie's implied suggestion he bed Beth while he had the opportunity. Instead, he set her away from him, and told her, "Think about that while you guard the Princess Arianna."

"You do not play fairly, James," she said breathlessly. "I've thought of little else since you left as well, but there are times when others must come first. Perhaps tomorrow she will be settled, and we may have our chance."

He had not said it to her more than once or twice, but he did then. "Know that I love you, Beth, and that is why I'm not going to complain."

She went on her toes, pressed a kiss on his mouth, and James made a mental note to say that more often if it might get her to kiss him, especially if it might invite more than kisses. "I love you as well."

Turning her toward the door, he said, "Let's go get your sister to bed."

Looking over her shoulder, Beth frowned.

"Someone's got to carry her up to her bed," he noted gruffly. Arianna wasn't a particularly tall child, but at about ten, he suspected she was more than either Beth or Jorie could manage.

He waited in the foyer until Beth and Jorie had roused their sister enough to dress her in James's shirt. The child was obviously worn out when Beth called him into the parlor. His shirt swamped her, hung nearly to her ankles, and someone had rolled the sleeves back so that their length wouldn't interfere with her hands. Beth finished winding the girl's hair into a long braid and tied it off with a bit of ribbon as James met Arianna's eyes. "Shall I carry you up?" he asked, unwilling to touch her without her permission. Beth might claim her sister knew he wouldn't do what Will had told her, but he didn't want to frighten if her if she had simply been humoring her oldest sister.

It came as a relief when Arianna rubbed a sleepy eye, nodded, and then lifted her arms to him. She put her head on his shoulder as he climbed the stairs, her arms tightly around his neck and whispered, "Can I help you kill Will?"

He laughed softly. "Jorie has other plans."

"Jorie should change her plans then," Arianna whispered sleepily. "Will must die. Then you can have us, and Beth will be safe again." She breathed deeply in, shifted a little in his arms, and James felt her own arms tighten a fraction further. "You can marry Beth, and I could stay with you."

By then they had reached what was supposed to be Beth's room. He took her inside, saw that Bess had had a pallet made on the floor for the girl. Her maid waited, but Beth quietly dismissed her. James wondered how she planned to get out of her gown and decided he would volunteer to help her with that.

"Put her in the bed," Beth said.

When he put the little princess on the mattress, she didn't let go, pressed a kiss on his cheek and sleepily said, "Don't leave us."

Gently removing her arms, he looked at Beth. "He must, Arie," she said softly, "but his room is only across the hall."

"Make him stay, Beth," the girl insisted. "If Will comes, we will need him."

Beth frowned at her sister. "Why do you think Will might come?"

"He and that big man he kisses took me out of my bed at the inn where we were staying. You aren't big enough to stop them if they come back."

Beth paled again, looked slightly ill. James sat on the edge of the bed and met Arianna's frightened eyes. The child was suddenly wide awake, and after a moment, she explained. "The soldiers we were with stopped at the inn, and Maman made the innkeeper give us our own room," the girl told him. "Maman's new lover is an English officer, and she didn't want me in their room. They had a battle with Will and his men earlier in the day. I nearly got hit with a musket ball in our carriage. It made a hole next to where my head was leaning against it."

James noticed that didn't seem to faze her, though it did Beth, who didn't quite succeed in smothering a horrified sound. He looked her way, and extended his hand. She sat beside him, and he kept her hand in his, gave it a slight squeeze.

"It was nearly morning when a creaking noise woke me. I was about to scream, but that big man of Will's stuck his filthy hand over my mouth." Arianna glared a minute, though it wasn't as fierce as it might have been if her face had been less weary. "He got my nose, too, and I thought I'd suffocate. I tried to bite him, but he moved his hand where I could at least breathe, which was good because his hand _was_ dirty. Then Will told him to secure me. They wrapped me in the sheet like they were swaddling a baby," she spat, and James bit back his amusement at the girl's disgust at being so treated.

"When was this?" James asked.

Arianna shook her head. "A week or so ago?" She shrugged against her pillow. "Can we go get my clothes from that Honoria?"

"No," Beth said, and took her sister's hand. "I have no desire to ever see the Camerons again, so you and I shall go shopping tomorrow."

Arianna turned a surprisingly adult look on James. "When we kill Will, let's kill Honoria, too."

"Arie!" Beth hissed, clearly appalled by the girl's desire to commit murder. James gave Beth a look, wondered that she didn't share her sister's sympathies because he most certainly did. He was wise enough not to say so, though, didn't want to further upset Beth. "You must stop saying you want to kill people."

"But I do!" she protested. "They hurt you, and they stole me."

James snorted, still amused. Sometimes he wished things were truly as simple as the way children saw them. Of course, he might only feel that way since he was in completely sympathy with Arianna's wishes. "She's right, Beth."

"See!" Arianna told her sister. "They must pay for their crimes."

"I surrender," Beth muttered, and James grinned at her disgust. She gave him a look that suggested she wouldn't grace his bed because of his defection. James figured he could convince Beth otherwise once her sister was asleep.

"Bed," she told the child firmly.

"I am in bed," Arianna returned.

"Then sleep," Beth ordered.

She closed her eyes, and rolled on her side, tucked her knees up near her chest before she gave her own order: "Make James stay."

Beth frowned at him.

"Make me," he challenged softly.

"Don't you start," Beth told him, but she didn't look as disgruntled as she tried to sound. He leaned close enough to kiss her, noticed that after a few seconds, her hand rose to his clean-shaven jaw and her fingers spread against his skin. Just as her mouth opened under his, a giggle from Arianna caused Beth to break the kiss.

"Beth wants you to stay, too," the little princess told him.

"James may stay until you are asleep," Beth said at last. He wondered if he could convince her to retire to his room with him when Arianna succumbed. "If, however," she firmly added, "you do not settle in to sleep now, I shall let him go to his own bed. You forget, Arie; he's had a long journey to get here, and I'm certain he's tired."

He wanted to protest, but he really couldn't. He was tired, but he didn't object to an opportunity to remain with Beth, particularly if he could convince her to let him at least hold her. James watched her bend and kiss her sister's cheek before she stood snuffed the candle on the stand next to the child's side of the bed and beckoned to James to get off the mattress. Arianna turned her head, watched as James followed Beth who gestured to the chair near the other side of the bed. As he seated himself, he caught Arianna's eye, winked and gave her a flash of a grin before caught her sister's hand and tugged Beth into his lap. The child giggled again.

Locking his arms around Beth so that she couldn't stand, he whispered in her ear. "Be still, or I shall talk to your sister so that she remains awake and I may stay."

Her brows rose, but she obediently stilled. James almost wished she hadn't. He moved her to a more comfortable position in his lap, lifted her legs so they draped over the chair's arm and moved his hands so that his fingers laced together over her hip. Arianna, it seemed, was ready to finally settle in to sleep.

James considered the possibilities having Beth in his lap offered. He trailed the fingers of one hand up her side after she settled her head on his shoulder. When he felt her lips against his throat, her fingers slipping between the ties of his shirt to reach the skin beneath, he moved his hand around to her back so that he could unbutton her bodice.

"We mustn't," she breathed in his ear.

He turned his head and caught her lips with his. He noticed she didn't object to that since she slipped the hand not tangled in his shirt up his neck to thread her fingers in his hair. Maybe it was the idea that Arianna might wake and see her naked that bothered her, so he wondered how long he would have to wait to insure the little princess in the bed was soundly sleeping before he could try to convince the one in his lap to let him take her to his bed.

When Beth's lips parted from his, it wasn't hard to see that she felt the same way. James wondered if she would insist on remaining with her sister in case she was needed or if she could be convinced go with him, who definitely needed her but in a very different way. The fingers inside his shirt flexed, stroked, and her green eyes stared steadily at him. James smiled at her, thought it possible she could be persuaded.

He moved his hand so his forefinger trailed along the neckline of her bodice, traced the soft skin by skimming his finger against the edge of the fabric there. Thinking of the layers he would need to remove from her in order to have her fully exposed, he pondered the fact that women wore decidedly too many clothes. He bent and kissed the swell of a breast above his finger, and Beth's breath caught, sighed softly out.

"I was afraid you'd go after Will tonight," she whispered.

He tensed, gritted his teeth and had to force his jaw to relax in order to tell her, "I would have if your more lethal sister hadn't made me back down."

Beth leaned away from him, gave him a puzzled frown.

James sighed. "She tells me your country's style of revenge would be the better part of valor." He grimaced. "I'm not completely convinced I shouldn't have just taken a pistol and shot him when he came to the door, but she was able to persuade me that he would most likely be prepared for that."

Her face had paled as he spoke, and James wondered if she so abhorred violence in any form that when the time came—and he fully intended to see that the time would definitely come—she would attempt to prevent him doing what had to be done.

It didn't give him pleasure, he realized, the idea that he would take the ultimate revenge for what Will had done to her, but it did provide him with a kind of satisfaction that he would be the one to force his old friend to pay the price for the sins he had committed.

Beth's face went solemn. "I have no love for Will or for his family," she said softly. "I want only to be free of them, but not at the expense of you."

That mollified him a little. It also sobered him to remember that it might not be Will who would cost him his life. He could die in the war, completely unrelated to Will, and in that moment he realized that while he would rather die an old man in his own bed, he would continue to do his duty no matter how abhorrent it had become.

"I am yours, Beth," he told her truthfully. He'd seen some beautiful women since he had last left her, some he could have had, but not a one of them appealed to him as the woman in his lap did. He could appreciate those other women, but the only one he wanted was the one currently cradled against him. "In order for you to be truly mine, though," he told her, "and as long as the only way to free you of Will is for him to die—"

She pushed against his chest, but he locked his arms around her to keep her where she was. "No."

"I promise I won't murder him, Beth," he told her through gritted teeth, "but I'm damned if I won't exploit an opportunity if it presents itself. If Will was stupid enough to take your sister, then he's descending into outright madness. If he isn't stopped, then you aren't safe, nor are Arianna or my mother or sister." She struggled against his grip, but he tightened it. "He wants you, Beth, and if he succeeds in getting you, this time he will most likely kill you. I don't think he'll be satisfied to simply hit you, beat you, or otherwise humiliate you. I think he believes the only way to win, the only to best me, is to make sure that you can never be mine."

"It's all my fault," she told him, and he watched tears gather in her eyes.

Why she could believe such a thing was simply beyond him. Unless there was something about her he had yet to learn, he couldn't accept that. "No, Beth, it's Will's. There's something simply not right about him. He was raised to be a gentleman by parents who indulged him, who never held him accountable for his actions. He was given everything he ever asked for, and all it appears to have taught him is that there is never enough, that nothing will ever be right or perfect enough to satisfy him."

"No, James," she whispered, and her voice shook. Misery swam in her expression. "He only does this because you love me."

He put his hand on the side of her neck, let his fingers stroke back and his thumb glide across her cheek. Were it not for her expression, he might have made a joke about Will being jealous, but there was something in her expression that caused him to cock his head, narrow his eyes thoughtfully.

Her tongue slipped between her lips, and then she rolled the bottom one between her teeth. She was going to cry, he realized. "You must be mistaken, Beth," he began softly.

"You don't understand," she interrupted. "You love _me_, not him. Will hates me because you love me instead of him."


	25. Chapter 25

Once again, thanks to those of you who reviewed the story. I love hearing what readers think.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 25**

When her meaning sank in, James's first temptation was to laugh it off, to tell Beth she was mistaken, but it was obvious she believed it. He sought the words to deny it, but instead things from his and Will's shared past began to fall into new places in his memory, formed a new pattern.

If he'd been asked whether he loved Will before Beth came to marry the other man, he would have said yes and thought nothing of it. They'd been the closest of friends, practically brothers, and he had always thought of Will Cameron as such. It wasn't until Beth had come into his life that he had seen Will differently. The moment James saw her, he'd fallen, and his friendship with Will had begun to unravel almost immediately. His affection for Will had turned to envy and, finally, resentment. He took a moment to consider whether that change in their relationship was his fault or Will's. What really mattered, he finally decided, was that at this point, the only things that kept him from outright hatred of the other man were the facts that he could remember the happier moments of their shared lives and that despite his active dislike for his former friend, he pitied Will, in part because James had managed to win Beth's affections.

As he sifted through their lifetime together, he saw things he had missed, things that had been far outside the scope of either his knowledge or conscious thought. He saw how Will had never formed a true affection for a female, which was one of the reasons James had been so happy for his friend when he came home from Europe and announced he was getting married—until he saw the bride himself.

It wasn't just the lack of women in Will Cameron's life, he thought. He began to remember times when Will's words hadn't rung true when he talked about his affections. He remembered, too, times when Will had brushed against him, accidentally touched him, and, in the process, made James uncomfortable. James recoiled, tried to decide if he was reading more into what might well have been innocent brushes of a hand or body, and then he remembered that night at the house party when he had been hiding in his room, half-naked, and Will had come to talk to him, made him want to cover his bare flesh, something he had never felt the urge to do in front of Will before.

He wanted to tell her she was mistaken, but her expression said she believed it, so James considered again. "Beth," he finally began, but he couldn't make himself say more.

"He loves you, James," she said, and he wanted to squirm since it was plain she didn't mean brotherly love. "He simply can't abide the fact that when you fell in love, it wasn't with him."

That made James's thoughts falter. His first instinct was to change the subject, but he also felt the need to address her statement. "I never did a thing to encourage him." 

The small, sad smile that accompanied her hand on his cheek, made him hope they could end this discussion quickly and pursue another, one that didn't need words and very definitely didn't involve his former friend. "You didn't have to," she assured him. She leaned forward and kissed him, very thoroughly, too, which he appreciated just then.

"Do you think your sister would be alright alone?" he whispered.

The smile wasn't sad this time. "I take it you _do_ wish to encourage my feelings for you?" Her hand slid back inside his shirt.

"Do you need to be encouraged?"

Her mouth on his said she didn't. It also said willing, and James shifted her in his lap, prepared to stand and take her to his room when he heard Arianna stir in the bed. He and Beth both froze, listened intently, but there was no more movement or sound from the girl. Beth, though, looked conflicted.

"We'll leave the doors open," James suggested.

One of Beth's brows lifted. "I'm not at all certain that's wise, James."

"Has wisdom ever been a part of this?"

She gave a rueful shake of her head, and he felt her body relax. "Take me to bed, James."

In his bedchamber—though given what she had said about her own sleeping arrangements in his absence, he wondered if that should be _their_ bedchamber—he set her on her feet. One of the maids had been in and turned the bed covers down, left a candle next to the bed. Now that he had Beth there with little chance of interruption, he wasn't in a hurry. On the other hand, every time in the hours since he arrived when he had thought he was about to get her into his bed, they had been interrupted, so perhaps haste might not be a bad thing.

James efficiently stripped her, and Beth did the same to him. Once he had her naked and lying on his sheets, he decided haste was not at all what he wanted despite a strong need. Fortunately, she seemed to feel the same, slowly traced her hands and eyes over his body. He relearned the shape of her, the dips and swells of her body; he relearned the warm silkiness of her skin, the scent of her, the taste of her.

He watched her as he moved inside her, and she watched him right back. As she moved with him, made short, sharp strokes with her hips as he thrust inside her, he watched her eyes slit, her head go back on the pillows, and her lips part. Her hands clutched at him, his shoulders, then her hands moved down his chest, down his side and onto his back, then her body began to tense, her breathing sped, and he pushed her over, smothered her gasping cry with his mouth.

They should have closed the door, he thought afterward, holding his weight off her and smiling down at her sleepy face. He would have liked to hear her, but that might have woken her sister. He slanted his lips over hers, then moved, pulled the covers over them in case they had made enough noise to wake the girl sleeping in what was supposed to be Beth's room. He'd rather not have a witness to either his or Beth's nakedness, family or not.

After months of sleeping on army cots and the ground, it was pure luxury to lie in his own bed, more so since Beth settled along his body, slipped an arm over his waist. James wore a slight smile on his face, one that soured when his thoughts turned to Will.

"James?"

He tilted his head, met Beth's eyes. She wore concern as she studied him in the dim candlelight. He lifted his head, pressed a quick kiss on her mouth and turned so that he more fully faced her. He put a hand on her hip and moved a little closer to her. "Tell me a story," he suggested, unwilling to explain why he had tensed, and opened his mouth over hers. He wasn't in the mood for stories, but he'd take the distraction from his increasingly dark thoughts about Will, about how he should have ignored Jorie and gone to the Cameron's Charles Town house and simply killed him.

Looking at Beth, though, he wasn't completely sure the concern he saw on her face was for him.

Her hand ran over his chest as she met his gaze. "No stories," she told him softly. "What are we to do, James?"

It would be simple to pretend he didn't understand what she asked. It would be equally simple to make a joke, to suggest they return to what they had just been doing, but he thought it might well be past time to have the discussion they continually avoided. "What do you want of me, Beth?" he asked, and he was careful to keep his tone soft, serious.

Her fingers carded through the hair on his chest, then again, her fingertips skimming the skin beneath. "I want you, James," she told him, and she dropped her eyes to where her fingers stroked his chest. "I want to be your—"

Whatever it was she wanted to be, she apparently was unwilling to tell him since she stopped abruptly. James waited, but she said no more, and he wondered why she hadn't finished the thought. He wanted to marry her, and it suddenly occurred to him that after Will, she might well be finished with marriage, might prefer the very limited relationship that was the only intimate one possible so long as Will lived. He considered the fact that many men were happy to have the excuse of a wife to prevent them from attaching themselves permanently to an unsuitable woman, so perhaps the same was true of women, though he was a little incensed by the notion that she might consider him an unsuitable man. There were those married women who took lovers once they had borne their husbands heirs, he knew, and he once more examined her face carefully, looked for clues to what she had been about to say.

She dropped her eyes, looked more than a little embarrassed, and that made him angry—not the kind of angry he'd felt over Will's treatment of Beth and her sister, but angry nonetheless.

"I wish I could be your wife," she whispered.

As quickly as it had come, the anger faded. He was surprised by the tide of emotion that flowed in behind it. "Beth." He cupped her jaw, held her face where he could see it, "I would marry you in a second if we were free to do so," he promised. He gave her a slow smile, one that then stretched to a small grin. "I'd probably drag you to the first person I could find with the authority to bind you to me."

If he'd expected a smile or happy expression, he would have been disappointed, and he once more thought that perhaps Will's abuse had killed her desire for marriage. After all, they could share a relationship that was very like a marriage without a wedding. His grin faded.

Beth gave him a bitter smile. "It appears we want what we cannot have."

She moved so her body rubbed against his, a motion that gave him ideas about the waste of time talking was in such circumstances—especially since they had already said what mattered. He knew he could replace her melancholy expression with a smile if they stopped and simply showed one another how they felt.

"Perhaps it's best we simply enjoy what we can."

The anger again overrode the pleasure he'd felt when she said she wanted to be his wife. It was contrary as hell, particularly since he'd just been thinking much the same thing, but hearing her give the thought voice infuriated him. He moved away from her, rolled so that he sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. "Perhaps you should return to your own room in case Arianna needs you."

He felt the bed shift, but he refused to turn around and watch her leave. Her hand settled between his shoulders, and she said, "I've angered you."

It was all he could do to stop the sarcastic comment about how obvious her statement was.

"James, you and I both know that can't be."

This time, he bit out, "It could if the women in your family would stop interfering and let me put an end to your husband."

Her hand was snatched back. "You couldn't murder Will."

Something about her certainty made him shoot a look over his shoulder. "I think I could," he assured her, and he was pretty sure he could. Of course, there were many things since meeting the woman kneeling behind him he'd found he once believed he wouldn't do that he had—and a few he'd thought he could but hadn't.

She shook her head. "No, James, you couldn't." She hitched the bedclothes further up to cover her, met his gaze, and he turned a little more toward her so he could better see her face. "In battle, yes. If your life was at stake, then, yes, but I sincerely doubt you could simply walk up to him and kill him."

About to refute her statement, he stopped, closed his mouth, and thought hard. He had allowed himself to be stopped each time he'd had an opportunity or an excuse. It irritated the hell out of him that there could be some truth in her claim. Her hand reached out, and her fingers trembled a moment against his bicep. "You don't want to," she said, let her hand settle against the muscle of his upper arm, "but you still think of him as a brother, James."

"Like hell," he ground out, but he could admit it was part of why he felt so betrayed. Then he stopped, looked more closely at her. He and Beth had betrayed Will, and while Will had betrayed Beth through the abuse he and his mother had committed against her, the only thing Will had done to James was the beating he and his group of thugs had carried out when they killed Lem and tried to burn Oak Point. Alright. Pembroke, too, if Jorie was right—and she was inevitably right about such matters. He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face.

He considered what he felt for Will, and he realized that while he did have some fond memories from their childhood, the adult Will had killed any desire to maintain the bond they'd once had. He wondered if part of his anger was tied to the guilt he felt for having seduced Beth. Because there was some guilt that lingered, made an occasional appearance, and James was just honest enough to admit it this once.

Beth's hand lightly stroked his arm again, and she said, "I wouldn't love you, James, if I thought you could truly commit murder—even if it was Will." 

Pulling her against him, he crossed his arms in the small of her back. "What would you do if I did kill him?"

For a few seconds, she chewed the lower lip she rolled between her teeth and met his eyes. "Marry you," she finally admitted.

James studied her, pondered the contradiction in her words.

"Killing him isn't the same as murder, James, and if you had taken a pistol and confronted him tonight, it would have been murder, and I doubt you'd be able to live with having killed him so." Her arms lifted to his shoulders. "In battle, in a fight Will started, that's very different."

"So I simply have to wait for Will to try and kill me," he growled.

"I suspect it's the only way you will be able to live with yourself."

Still relatively certain he could live with shooting Will like the mad dog James was convinced he had become, he decided to let it go, especially since his arms were full of warm, naked woman.

She pulled his head to hers and kissed him, slowly, deeply. "Let's not talk of Will," she whispered before her body took his mind completely off her husband.

-X-

Somewhere near dawn, a noise roused James, and he slitted his eyes open enough to see Arianna standing near the bed. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and the girl looked like she wanted to cry. He shifted slightly, careful not to wake the woman with her back pressed against his chest who still slept.

The little princess made a soft whimper, and James wondered if she was trying to gather the courage to wake one of them—probably her sister. He opened his eyes fully, lifted his head.

"Bad dream," she whispered brokenly. "I want Beth."

He wanted Beth, too, he reflected grimly, but not quite in the manner in which the child obviously did.

"She's sleeping," he told her, quite unnecessarily, he would have thought, since even he knew that were Beth aware her sister was in their room she would have spoken to her.

"I still want her," Arianna said, and her lower lip trembled.

"Go back to bed," he said softly, "and I'll wake her and send her to you."

From the look on the girl's face, he had a feeling she wasn't leaving without Beth, and James was pretty sure Beth shouldn't climb out of bed naked with her little sister for an audience. The child remained stubbornly put, so James sighed came up with a compromise of sorts, though it felt more like an unconditional surrender to the enemy. Not that he would ever consider the little princess the enemy, but her presence would effectively end any chance of a making love to the girl's sister again before they rose to start the day.

"There's a quilt inside the trunk at the foot of the bed. You can cover up with it on top of the bedclothes."

He put his head back on the pillow and wondered how, if Arie was still there, even if she were asleep, when it was time to get up, he was getting out of that bed with any modesty or dignity in tact given he wore no clothes. He heard the hinges on the small trunk creak as Arie lifted the lid, a rustle of fabric as she retrieved the quilt, and then the creaking hinges again as she lowered it once more. The child crawled up next to her sister and unfolded the quilt, covered herself with it, and then lay down facing the two of them.

"How come you and Beth left your clothes in the floor?" she asked after hitching the quilt up to cover her shoulder.

Not about to explain that, James said gruffly, "Go back to sleep."

"Didn't your _maman_ teach you not to leave your things in the floor?"

In truth, it had been Bess who scolded him for leaving his things scattered about, though his mother had been known to contribute her thoughts on the subject now and then. "Caleb will get them in the morning," he assured her. "Go back to sleep."

She gave him a hard little stare that was surprisingly adult on her little face. "Beth says it isn't nice to make extra work for the servants."

His lips twitched. That had been primly enough said that he wondered if that ability to immediately shame men was innately part of being female. James decided against pointing out that Beth's clothes were also on the floor, mainly because he suspected the child would ask if they were naked, and he definitely didn't want to have that conversation, particularly since he had a fair notion of what the other questions that would follow his answer were likely to be.

As he was about to tell her once more to go to sleep before she woke her sister, Beth sleepily mumbled her sister's name and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Bad dream," the child repeated.

Beth freed an arm from the covers, smoothed the child's hair. She asked, "Want to tell me?"

The child shook her head. "I didn't want to be alone."

"Then let us all go back to sleep," Beth said, and it sounded to James as if she was well on her way.

Arie settled in, held her sister's hand. Well aware his own cradled Beth's bare breast, James closed his eyes and wrote off a more pleasurable beginning to the morning. As he drifted back to sleep, he considered for the first time what life with children might be like. He and Katy had been relegated mostly to the nursery and the care of slave nursery maids, as had all their friends and cousins—likely their parents as well—until they were civilized, as his great aunt Millicent used to put it. Given how Beth tended to keep the little girl snuggled on the other side of her near, he had a feeling she didn't see it the same way, suspected she'd keep her own children close to her whenever possible. He rather liked that idea, he thought, but he decided he would draw the line at allowing them to sleep in the same bed with them.

-X-

When he woke again, he could hear voices through the door and across the hall. Given one of them was Beth's, he wondered how she had managed to get out of bed without either waking him or embarrassment about her lack of night wear. Then again, Arianna might have already been gone by the time she did so, or she could have sent the girl out before she left the bed.

The voices were louder when Caleb opened the door and entered, softened again when his manservant closed the door behind him. Caleb did as he often did, made enough quiet noise to guarantee James was awake. James gave some serious thought to pretending to he was still asleep, but it was obvious the younger man was not going to let him. He sat up, watched Caleb move around the room, set out his shaving things, find his clothes for the day. He shoved the covers back and got up to prepare for the day before him.

After he allowed Beth's maid to cut his hair, he shaved and finished dressing himself before heading downstairs.

Beth was at the table with Katy and his mother when James entered the dining room. The three women were in a tense discussion about the Princess Arianna and what she might wear. The little princess and Jorie seemed to be enjoying the excruciating polite debate. As he seated himself, he realized that Beth really did intend to go shopping that morning and that his mother was actively discouraging it. He wondered if his mother, as he did, thought with Will in Charles Town that Beth should remain out of sight.

It was soon clear that Beth was determined to go, and no argument any of them managed to pose would sway her. She had logic on her side: "Arie needs clothes, James, and since I refuse to go to the Camerons' for the ones she was travelling with, since none of Katy's castoffs will fit her, and since your mother refuses to allow her to wear something from one of the slaves, we must visit a dressmaker."

Reluctantly, he gave in. His mother and Katy had calls to make, so they could not accompany the two princesses, and James had business to attend. When Beth agreed to take her sister to a dressmaker Katy recommended, he realized his lawyer was nearby, so he agreed to escort them. The matter settled, they concentrated on breakfast, and after the meal was finished, Beth took Arianna upstairs to get ready. James went to his office to sort through the correspondence his mother had not forwarded to him.

Sometime later, he heard Beth and Arianna on the stairs. James studied Arianna, dressed once more in the clothes she had worn the night before. They appeared to have been laundered and pressed, and so was Jorie's uniform when she appeared behind them. He wondered if his servants had been up all night to achieve that. Beth wore one of her riding habits, the green one that made her eyes appear darker, which was probably warmer than most of her other clothes.

James had chosen to wear his own clothes, reluctant to remind his neighbors and friends that he was in His Majesty's service by going out in uniform, especially since it would only bring Pembroke more quickly to mind. He shrugged on a coat and escorted the du Mares out. Beth and Arianna insisted on walking, and the younger girl chattered to Beth all the way to the dressmaker's.

James had no desire to wait through whatever women discussed when it came to their costume, especially when he recalled how long Katy could spend in such an establishment, so he excused himself, walked on to his lawyer's office. He had several things he wished to consult the man about, and since Jorie remained reluctantly with her sisters, he knew they would be well protected. That didn't stop the woman from giving him a look that suggested she might have to find a way to get even with him for that, which amused him.

What didn't amuse him was seeing Honoria and Will Cameron walking on the other side of the street toward him. While he worried about Beth and Arianna's safety, he knew Jorie was more than enough protection, particularly since Will had only Honoria with him and appeared unarmed. Nonetheless, James wondered if it might not be better for him to return to the dressmaker's than leave them exposed. The two Cameron's turned into another shop, though, so James decided to risk taking care of his own business first.

He spent a pleasant hour in Thomas Fountaine's office. James had never been especially fond of the bookwork and the paperwork that were part of how he earned his living, but it was an important part of making sure he provided for his family and left something to whomever his heirs would be. He did, though, enjoy the investments, the decisions about where to put his money in order to earn more. He'd learned a lot from his father, a lot from Robert Cameron, and plenty from Theresa, and he had a knack for knowing how to multiply his wealth. As he signed a contract for one of those investments, he idly thought about the fact that he'd probably make a fair merchant if the worst happened and the war cost him Oak Point.

That thought put him in a gloomy mood, but he sat and listened to Thomas catch him up on the news. As the other man told him about engagements and marriages, about those who had chosen to leave the colony rather than wait to see the outcome, and about other milestones of their acquaintances, James couldn't help but wonder what one called gossip when men did it.

Just before he was about to take his leave, Thomas's face grew grave. "I know you could not have done it, James, but the Camerons and three of the Henderson boys are doing their damnedest to convince the other planters your hand threw the first torch at Pembroke."

James knew that was likely not a hard thing for Will to do. After all, many of the planters felt a successful revolution would guarantee they got to make the rules when the new government formed, and he knew they fully intended to make sure those rules would benefit them and their interests rather than anyone else's. He remembered one of his first conversations with Beth when she asked about their notion of equality, and he knew that for many of his neighbors, their only equals were the families into which they had intermarried or who had the wealth and social status to put someone in their sphere.

"I appreciate that," he told the other man. Then he paused, eyed Thomas. "I have something else I would like you to do for me." He swiftly outlined some changes he wanted to make to his will in the event something were to happen to him. If his lawyer thought some of them more than a little unconventional, Thomas chose to keep it to himself.

His business concluded, James was surprised to see a grim looking Jorie striding his way when he stepped outside the Fountaine law office. James waited, watched the woman's approach, and wondered why she hadn't remained with her sisters.

"Don't ask," Jorie ground out.

"Wouldn't dream of it," James assured her, amused by the woman's prickly mood, "but Beth and Arianna are without protection."

The look Jorie sent in his direction probably was meant to singe him, but James let his concern for the other two princesses override any amusement he might otherwise have. "They are fine, so long as they remain in the dressmaker's shop."

That told James that something had happened, so he asked Jorie what that might have been.

She gestured for him to start walking, but James stayed where he was since the direction she indicated was in the opposite direction to the one where the shop he'd left them was located. "That dressmaker your sister suggested told Anna that she couldn't help her unless she paid the Cameron women's bills first."

Falling into step with Jorie—who set a quick, angry pace—James considered that. "Pay their bills?"

Jorie shot him a furious look. "Your former friends have run up a shockingly high bill with the woman—and I say that as someone whose mother could spend that amount in a matter of minutes if allowed."

He listened as Jorie went on to say that the Cameron women had apparently gone on a spending spree with the dressmaker, and when presented with the bill that morning, Honoria had apparently told her that Will's wife would settle it. When Arie and Beth later entered, the woman had interrupted one of her assistants who approached them to bluntly tell Beth that she could not help her until the Camerons' bill had been paid. Beth had firmly informed her that she was not responsible for their debts, and the woman had equally firmly insisted Beth would have to settle it before she could provide any work for her.

"My sister may appear weak," Jorie assured him, "but when crossed, she can be formidable. She told that woman that she was willing to pay for Arie's clothes up front, in gold, but she would not pay her estranged in-laws' debt. When the woman refused, Anna simply told her that she would find another who would accept her offer. The woman told her that the Camerons had run up debts all over Charles Town with the promise that Anna would pay, so it was unlikely she would be successful."

By then, James was angry as well. The Camerons had pocketed a sum that was more than Hart's Crossing's worth when they sold it to one of the other planters who needed land for one of his younger sons, so James was appalled they had done such a thing. On the other hand, it guaranteed they either bled Beth financially to the point she would have no choice but to return to them, or their debts had already been substantial enough that the sale of their plantation hadn't covered them.

"That explains why Will suddenly decided he wanted her back," James bit out. Will hadn't made a move he was aware of to get Beth back before he took Arianna. It could have been an impulsive decision, he supposed, but he doubted it.

"Or why his mother decided he needed to get her back," Jorie stated with the kind of scathing disdain that would have done their Colonel proud. "Thankfully, Anna met a friend on the street who took her to another dressmaker who didn't hold Cameron debts."

James shot a puzzled look at Jorie.

"The Sephardic woman from whose family shop you bought Beth's earrings," she clarified.

It took James a minute to realize she meant Luiza D'Oliviera. He owed Luiza yet another debt, he decided.

As they neared the shop, they could see a crowd forming on the street. Jorie let out a string of curses and picked up her pace. James heard Arianna shouting at someone, and they both broke into a run.

The commotion turned out to be a sight James would have preferred not to see—or if he had to, then he would have preferred it be in a more private venue so that his own actions would possibly come under less censure. Michael Henderson had a tight grip on Arianna, who twisted, kicked and cursed like a sailor as she tried futilely to break free of him. James admired her vocabulary even though he felt someone should reprimand her for that kind of language—language he was certain the child did not fully understand—or blister her backside for her.

Will had Beth.

James blamed the tightness in his chest on the run to reach them, but it was really the tight grip Will had on Beth's short hair and the fact that he had obviously hit her at least once since her cheek bore the mark, looked as though it were about to swell, and her mouth was bloodied, her lip split. Jorie had come out armed, and James snatched her pistol from her and stalked toward Will. He no longer cared that there were witnesses. "Let her go," he demanded.

Will's furious face turned toward him. "She's _my_ wife, James. Mind your own damned business."

"You can't beat her on a public street, Will," he bit out. "You used to at least only do so in private."

There was a murmur among those present, but James could care less about what they had to say or whose side they chose to take. He hoped his words sent the right message, that Beth had taken shelter with his family because of what Will did to her, what they might well have just witnessed.

Will turned more fully toward him, and James's eyes went to Beth, who was dragged around by her hair. She stumbled, fell, but Will kept his grip in her hair and yanked her back to her feet by that handhold when she fell. Arianna shrieked at Will to let her sister go, and James lifted the pistol. Curiously, Beth didn't make a sound.

"You're going to shoot me for insisting my wife return home where she belongs?" Will demanded, incredulous.

"No," James said quietly. "I'm going to shoot you if you don't release her. You've caused her enough harm, Will. Now let her go."

He heard Michael Henderson curse, and he heard Jorie draw her sabre. He kept his eyes trained on Will, though.

"You let her go!" Arianna demanded, and James realized that Henderson's curse must have come as a result of whatever she had done to get free. The child stopped just in front of Will. "You let her go right now, or I'll shoot you if James won't."

Will backhanded the child hard enough to knock her down, and at that, Beth cried her sister's name. Will grabbed her arm and wrenched her violently around when she would have headed to where Arianna lay. Will's action turned them. James watched as the other man lifted a fist, and his intent to punch Beth was crystal clear. He didn't think about his own action, turned the pistol and clubbed Will with the butt. The blow caused Will to let her go and to fall to his knees, but it didn't knock him out. It did enrage him.

When Will came back to his feet and turned on him, James had a second where he thought he could shoot his former friend and be done with it. There were witnesses, though, and Will was unarmed. Beth, it turned out, was right: he couldn't murder her husband.

He gave the pistol back to Jorie, let Will take the first swing, and when it failed to land, he took satisfaction in planting a solid punch in Will's pretty face.

"You can't have her!" Will ground out and took another swing, one James easily evaded.

"You and your family don't get another chance to kill her," James bit out and landed another punch. He heard a gasp from one of the onlookers, and he remembered then that no one outside the two families had probably heard that story. Then again, it could have been the blood that spurted from Will's nose when James landed his blow. He avoided another of Will's swings, connected another punch, and this time, Will went to his knees. "Snatching her sister and trying to use her to bargain for Anna-Elizabeth's return was very bad form," he taunted. "They'll both remain safely with my family, and you'd be wise to leave them there, unmolested."

Getting to his feet again, Will sneered, "Wise? Really, James, you're sins are far greater than mine."

He thought of Pembroke. "They really aren't," he breathed, "though the lies you tell might make some believe that to be true."

This time, his punch was harder, and Will hit the ground and remained there, unmoving. James breathed hard, was about to go to Beth when Arianna wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. He patted her back as Jorie went to tend to Beth. It was probably for the best, he thought, though he would have preferred to be the one who helped her up, wrapped an arm around her and walked her away from the gawkers.

Henderson stepped forward to deal with Will, and James caught his furious look, wondered if he was going to have to do this again, this time with an opponent larger and stronger than he was.

James quietly told Arianna to follow her sisters. "When he comes around," James bit out after she'd done as he told her, "tell him I'm not his wife. I fight back. If he harms her or her sister again, I'll see he pays for every bruise, every cut, every broken bone."


	26. Chapter 26

Once more, thanks to those of you who review. Care and feeding of your writer is always a good thing.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 26**

When he arrived home, James could hear Bess's scolding voice. He recognized it from his childhood, the sound of angry concern that was more about something or someone having harmed one of hers than a transgression committed by whomever it was she spoke to, so he figured she was tending Beth given his housekeeper's words seemed to mostly comprise instructions about bruises and bleeding. Despite the lingering anger, he couldn't help a little smile. If she was using that tone, Bess had accepted that Beth belonged to him, and that made him relax.

Unwilling to interrupt any exchange of female emotions, particularly sympathy, he detoured to his office, poured a healthy measure of rye to counteract the throbbing of his fist, and wondered if he shouldn't have shot Will down after all. He had probably only further angered the man, increased his desire to hurt Beth, and since James had to leave again the next morning, that left her vulnerable.

As he turned, he saw Jorie leaning against the door frame. The woman was grim. "She can't remain here, James."

He wanted to argue. Instead, he sighed. "No, I suppose not." He held his glass out to her, and she stepped inside, took it. He poured another for himself, and considered Jorie's statement.

After all, it would endanger his mother and Katy if Beth and Arianna remained behind with neither him nor Jorie to protect them, though in Arianna's case it might be more accurate to state that it was not so much that she needed protection as it was that someone had to prevent her from shooting someone—most likely someone named Cameron. Neither his mother nor his sister were going to be willing to leave the city, he knew. It was past the time of year most of the planters traditionally left Charles Town for their plantations where they spent Christmas and the New Year before returning to town until spring. He couldn't send them to Oak Point, not with bands of rebel militia and the English roaming the countryside and looting and burning homes. There were some who had remained on their properties, he knew, but he suspected that even if only Beth and Arianna retired to Oak Point, it would simply make it easier for Will to find her, do whatever it was he wanted with her.

"Nor can they go with us," Jorie added, her pointed look suggesting he not even consider that.

He shook his head.

"Arianna tells me Will plans to kill you tomorrow."

James had forgotten what the little princess had told Beth the night before.

"I think it would be best if I went and discussed how to thwart Will's plan with the other members of the escort." She straightened, swallowed the last of her whiskey. "You should probably stay out of sight, and, hopefully, out of trouble."

With that, she was gone. James sat at his desk and sipped at his own whiskey. He conceded he'd probably made Will even more angry with him through his actions that morning, and that might now make Will focus more fully on getting to Beth. James wondered if he could resign his commission, take Beth to Oak Point. He finished his rye, knew he couldn't do either.

When he finally left his office, he wandered into the parlor where he found Beth reclining on one of the settees. An ugly bruise bloomed on her cheek and had begun to darken; her eye was swollen mostly shut. Her split lip had crusted over, but it, too, had swollen. James wished again he'd been able to kill Will, could make sure that he was never able to do this to her again.

Her maid came in with a basin and said, "Mr. James." He moved out of her way so she could reach her mistress.

Beth's head turned, and she looked like she wanted to cry. He wasn't going to apologize for hurting Will. He watched the maid dip a cloth in the basin's water, wring it out, and then lay it over Beth's cheek and eye. "Leave us," he told her.

"You shouldn't have sent Sukie away," Beth told him after the girl was gone. He sat on the edge of the settee.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Honoria came in the dress shop as we were about to leave. She saw us and turned around and left. When I stepped outside several minutes later, Will was there." She sounded tired rather than angry or even bitter. "He grabbed me, told me I was coming with him, and then. . . ." She tensed, shuddered, and then sighed. "I don't want to talk about this, James."

He took her hands in his. "Alright," he agreed, mainly because he, too, was reluctant to talk about it, particularly since he could feel the anger with Will begin to move from simmer to boil again, and he didn't want that to bubble to the surface, didn't want to lash out at Beth when she wasn't the target of his recurring rage. "Then let's talk about what I'm to do with you."

She winced when she tried to smile, and her broken lip pulled apart again, oozed a little blood. Beth took the cloth from her cheek and dabbed at the blood.

"Making you bleed wasn't what I had in mind," he assured her, and he considered that having made Will's nose bleed and rendering him insensate hadn't provided nearly enough recompense for the small bit of blood that now welled from her torn lip. He took the cloth from her when she started to sit up, rinsed it in the basin, squeezed the excess water from it, folded it, and placed it against her cheek once more.

"I don't think you'll be doing very much with me before you leave."

James studied her, wondered if there were other bruises or other hurts that weren't visible. Regardless, he suspected he could do a lot with her, even injured, if she would allow it.

Beth simply watched him, reached up to adjust the cloth on her face, and winced a little as her hand applied a little pressure to her bruised cheek.

He bent forward and kissed her uncovered cheek before he asked softly, "Where does it hurt?"

"Is that your way of getting me to discuss it when I told you I really don't want to?" She looked and sounded more tired than annoyed, despite her words.

The riding habit she wore covered her from her feet to her neck, so unless he undressed her, there was no easy way to see what hidden damage Will might have done her. He was about to suggest they go upstairs, offer the pretext of resting to get her where he could undress her. James had a feeling she'd see through the ploy, but since he figured he could distract her once he had her clothes off, was certain that with care they could find a way to amuse one another once he'd seen what else Will had done to her, he wasn't overly concerned—if he ignored the fact that what he might see could well send him hunting for Will regardless of any pleas from Beth not to do so.

Leaning in, James kissed a spot below her ear, and whispered, "You could simply show me."

Her lips twitched, and then she winced. At least the lip didn't bleed again. James kissed along her jaw toward her chin, opened the buttons on the front of her jacket. He was about to start on the ones on the waistcoat beneath when he heard someone enter the house. He looked over the back of the settee to see Katy and his mother. He sighed, straightened, and gave a disgruntled look at Beth, who simply raised her brows and tried hard not to laugh.

If he'd had any hope his mother wouldn't notice him, it evaporated when Temperance Wilkins stepped inside the parlor to say, "I cannot believe a son of mine would stoop to public brawling, even if it was with that absolute cad!"

Given he had nearly fought a duel with that cad, as she termed Will, James felt a mix of amusement and annoyance as he came to his feet. He'd been taught to defend helpless women, so his mother could hardly claim he hadn't done what was expected of him. On the other hand, gentlemen did not brawl on public streets, and James knew that.

He wondered if he could mollify her by pointing out it was hardly a brawl.

From her expression, he decided the answer was definitely not.

"It's all anyone is talking about," Katy added, though she, at least, seemed happy about what he'd done.

James could do without the additional gossip, and a quick look at Beth told him she felt much the same.

"Honestly, James, sometimes I wish your father was here to talk sense into you," his mother snapped.

Schooling his features, James could make a fair guess at what his father would have had to say. It likely would have started with either _Your mother's upset_ or, more likely, _Your mother says I have to talk to you about beating Will on a public street_. It would probably have ended with a glass of whiskey each and a serious discussion about his obligations as a gentleman. He was certain his father would have liked Beth, would have understood, and would have provided sensible counsel on the matter.

He missed his father keenly, and while he loved his mother, he could do without the scolding, particularly a scolding that involved what unsatisfactory punishment James had been able to inflict. Will deserved to suffer so much more, after all, to equal what he'd done to Beth.

"Well?" his mother demanded. "What have you to say for yourself?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, _I hope I at least broke his nose_, but instead he bit it back. There was no reason to further antagonize her, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to stand his ground. He sought the right words, reflected that he'd done something similar in that aborted duel with Will, though this time he truly did want to appease his audience if only for Beth's sake. He supposed he was at least sorry his mother had had to listen to the gossip that had clearly angered her and to which he had contributed. "I'll not apologize, Mother, though I will say I regret that our . . . quarrel was conducted in public."

His mother walked closer, and he braced for whatever else she intended to say to him. He looked at Beth, who had removed the cloth from her face, blushed, and looked embarrassed. He heard his mother's gasp, and shot a look at her. She had walked around the end of the settee and stared aghast at Beth's face.

Temperance met his eyes and told James, "No one mentioned that."

"When Jorie and I arrived, Will had already done that." He kept his tone flat.

She pushed him out of her way and bent over Beth, gently grasped her chin and turned the younger woman's face so that she could better examine it. "Did he harm you otherwise, Anna-Elizabeth?" his mother asked in a tone he remembered from childhood, mingled worry and tightly controlled anger.

Beth shook her head.

James wondered if Temperance Wilkins scared her. Other than over breakfast, where both women had been painfully polite, he'd never heard them speak to one another at any length.

Turning to face him again, his mother dropped her guard, but that did not prevent her return to her previous theme. "I do not condone public brawling, James."

"Tell that to Will, Mother, who was dragging Beth around by her hair and was just about to punch her again. If there was an audience to my fight with him, it was only because he'd already drawn one by beating her on the street." That finished with a tight anger he normally wouldn't have expressed in her presence.

It had an effect. His mother paled, but her eyes narrowed. He waited, expected she'd chastise him for that. "Surely there was a more civil way to resolve the issue."

James stifled the instinctive snort. He stood a little taller and looked down at his angry mother. "I could have challenged him to a duel, I suppose," he told her silkily, and her eyes narrowed a fraction more, "but it seemed more expedient to simply stop him from further harming Beth. He was in no mood to listen to reason, so I did what I felt I must. If it helps, he threw the first punch."

"You hit him with Jorie's gun first," Arianna supplied helpfully from just inside the door where she stood next to Katy, who was obviously trying not to laugh. James's mother turned to stare down the child, but Arianna simply shrugged and told Temperance, "I wanted him to shoot Will, so I suppose it's just as well he didn't since you're so angry about him just engaging in fisticuffs."

"That's enough, Arie," Beth said quietly and moved to sit up. James reached down a hand. She grasped it, and when he realized she intended to stand, he bent and helped her. "I've very tired," she told him, and then she turned to his mother. "I am sorry to have caused a public scene, but I am grateful to James for preventing Will from harming me further. If you will excuse me, I believe I shall retire to my bedchamber."

He watched her move stiffly toward the foyer and the stairs, but when he started to go after her, his mother stopped him. Her look told him she was far from finished, so he remained where he was, listened as Beth quietly told her sister, "Come with me, Arie," and took the child's hand.

At least his mother waited until the two princesses were out of earshot, sent Katy to prepare herself for lunch, and when she, too, had gone, his mother put her fists on her hips and stared up at him a moment before she finally began.

"I don't think you realize what you have done, James, and I don't think you realize at all that you've left the Camerons no further options but to expose your affair with Will's wife in order to explain that little scene."

"He won't," James assured her, "nor will Honoria or Helen, if they are wise." She was about to say something, but he cut her off. "They've run up debts, promised Beth will pay, which I will see to, but more importantly, they won't say a word because Beth can expose Will and his lover, and I doubt any of them are willing to let her do so."

His mother crossed her arms over her chest. "Then it's worse than I suspected, James, because if Anna-Elizabeth does reveal Will's perversion, I'm afraid you'll find most of Charles Town will side with the Camerons. You know as well as I do that it will be her word against his, and our friends will take the word of the unnatural cad they know over that of a foreigner, a woman, and a princess." Her head tilted and she examined him with the thoroughness only a mother could before she picked up on one of his previous statements. "Do not tell me you intend to pay that family's debts."

"I intend to return to Thomas Fountaine's after lunch and have him republish the appropriate notices that Beth is not responsible for the Cameron's debts, and while I'm at it, I'll see what he might be able to do to protect her assets from seizure." He shifted his weight, then straightened again, well aware he was on the brink of fidgeting. "Perhaps our friends would believe me."

Temperance raised her brows, and a bitter smile curved her lips. "And no one would see your support of Anna-Elizabeth as self-serving?" She sighed heavily. "James, I love you, and I like that girl, but there's no way to honorably defend against what they might say. It's probably best for the both of you to hold your counsel, to hope that when you are gone again that out of sight, out of mind will prevail and that the Camerons will say nothing further."

"Mother—"

"No, James," she interrupted, throwing her hand up, palm toward him. He stopped, wondered what objection she intended to raise. Instead, she dropped her hand and shook her head. "Please just avoid Will and his family as best you can, and we'll do our best to see that Anna-Elizabeth and her sister remain safe."

-X-

Beth and Arianna didn't come downstairs for lunch, nor did Jorie return to eat with them. Instead, the Wilkins's were the only ones present, and Katy carried much of the meal's conversation. When it was over, James went upstairs to check on Beth. He expected to find her in his bedchamber, but it was empty. He looked inside the room his mother had assigned her, saw that she and Arianna both lay on top of the covers, appeared to be asleep.

If Thomas Fountaine was surprised to see him again, the other man didn't show it. James explained why he was there, and after he had done so, Thomas sat back in his chair and raised his brows. "I heard about the fight."

James said nothing, simply returned the man's gaze.

"I'll see to the notices," Thomas said. "You do know there's little that can be done to protect Mrs. Cameron from her husband, don't you?"

"That's not your worry," James assured him.

Thomas's expression was grave. "It's not yours, either, James."

"As long as my mother agrees to shelter her and her sister, it is."

On his way home, he considered the mess in which they were enmeshed. James did not regret what he had done except that he had to leave the following morning, which would leave his family unprotected. He considered the farm he'd bought, the small house where he and Beth had first begun to meet, and he wondered if she might be left alone there, if there was some way to make the Camerons think she had returned overseas to her homeland. All it would take, he realized, was for one of their neighbors, one of the rebel bands, to learn where she was and tell Will, and the other man would have her.

That James could not allow.

Inside the foyer, he handed Micah his coat, still deep in thought about what to do with Beth.

"Your mama could use reinforcements," his butler said softly, and James frowned at him. He noticed then the voices coming from the parlor.

His first instinct was to take refuge in his office, but for Micah to have said what he did meant that his mother was under siege. James hoped he wouldn't find any of the Camerons in his parlor.

When he stopped in the doorway, he was reminded of the phrase his mother often used—be careful what you wish for. The cluster of women seated opposite his mother and Beth reminded him of battle lines, each side facing the other with arms drawn waiting for the order to charge.

"Do join us, James," his mother said; a steely note beneath the polite phrase made it a command.

He nodded at the three women opposite his mother and Beth, and then took a seat in an armchair next to his mother. Beth, he noted, sat rigidly upright, and James realized that for once her face was neither blank nor reserved in company. The women opposite them were clearly disapproving, and he wondered if he could invent an excuse to leave.

"We were just telling your mother how much Helen misses her daughter-in-law," Constance Patton said.

It occurred to James that Helen Cameron might give the army's tacticians a run for their money. Instead of coming herself, knowing she would never be admitted, she had sent proxies to whom his mother could not afford to be rude. He wondered what carrot they had dangled and what stick they had used to threaten. It was obvious Beth was deeply angry, and his mother didn't look pleased, either.

"Such an unfortunate business," Rebecca Mainwaring added with a slight shake of her head. "Really, James, fisticuffs on the street?"

Mrs. Mainwaring had always been flighty, so James took that at face value. He was about to defend his actions by telling the woman that Will had been beating his wife on that same street and that if there was to be regret, it should be for that. Before he could say so, though, the third member of the trio spoke up.

"You do realize, James," she drawled, "that your actions have called into question Anna-Elizabeth's fidelity to her husband."

He turned to Susann Gaspard. Of the three, she was the more dangerous, he knew, and the one more intimately linked to the Cameron family. The woman lifted a brow, silently challenged him to answer. "I would have thought, Mrs. Gaspard, that Will's own actions this morning make clear why Anna-Elizabeth has chosen to shelter here."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Will was simply overwrought."

"It wasn't the first time," James said tightly, "nor will it be the last, I suspect. I would think, as a woman, you would laud Anna-Elizabeth's choice to seek shelter rather than remain Will's victim."

"Her place is with her husband," Mrs. Mainwaring added with an earnest nod.

James took a moment to control his temper. "No woman should have to endure abuse from her husband."

"Come, James," Constance Patton said with a placatory smile. "We all know that we women are frail and foolish creatures, and it is sometimes necessary to chastise a wife, to teach her what her place is. As a foreigner, Anna-Elizabeth has much to learn about her place here as Will's wife."

In that moment, James wished it was a battle—or that little Arianna could get her wish and shoot someone, preferable one of the women seated on one of his settees. He knew that not a single one of the women seated in his parlor would have put up with their husbands treating them as Will had done Beth. "There is a difference between teaching one her role and beating her into submission."

Mrs. Mainwaring looked as though she smelled something unpleasant. "I'm certain Will doesn't beat Anna-Elizabeth," she told him stoutly, "and even if he does, that is between the two of them and none of our business."

He sat forward, was about to bluntly tell the woman to take a good look at Beth's face and explain what she saw there when Beth said. "Enough."

Her tone of voice was not her usual meek one. "I thank you ladies for your concern," she continued, "but I shall not return to the Cameron household where my sister and I may be continue to be ill-treated. You may tell Helen Cameron and my husband that while I do know my place and that I do understand the role of a wife, I will not consent to being treated worse than one of my husband's animals."

"You do harm not only to yourself and the Camerons, but to the Wilkinses as well," Mrs. Gaspard snapped. "Are you not aware, Anna-Elizabeth, that all of Charles Town believes you remain here because you have become James's mistress?"

Beth's chin raised, and a deadly look crossed her face that reminded him of Jorie. "Is that how the Camerons have chosen to explain why I left their household?" she asked coldly. "Given that James has not been in residence since Temperance kindly offered me shelter, why would anyone lend such a notion any credence?"

For once, James was glad to see the Princess. That she managed to make it sound as though Susann Gaspard's claim was a baseless lie without telling one of her own, earned a moment's admiration from him. It also set the other woman back, flustered her.

It was Constance Patton who spoke then. "Because James has proven himself no better than he should be. You would not be the first married woman with whom he has taken up—oh! I do beg your pardon, Temperance, my dear."

His mother drew herself a bit more erect before proving she was not at all fooled by the woman, and, to James's discomfort, more aware of his private life than he had suspected: "My son is a handsome man, Constance, and many women—including yourself—have thrown themselves at him. Anna-Elizabeth is not one of those."

He should have left this to them to sort out, he thought, since his mother was about to burn bridges she could ill afford to burn, and James could make no real defense given he sincerely hoped to have another man's wife in his bed at the end of the day. It was true, too, that when he was younger Constance had made it plain he could have a place in her bed if he wished, but he had turned her down.

"Ladies," James said. He aimed his remarks at Constance. "Mrs. Patton, Will has beaten his wife since before their marriage. She remained with him despite that—until the Camerons nearly starved her to death. It was only then that my mother offered Anna-Elizabeth a home and then only to protect her from further harm." He narrowed his gaze on her. "My parents raised me to be a gentleman," he bit out, "to defend the defenseless, and that is what I did this morning when no one else would come to Anna-Elizabeth's aid. I would think you'd approve of that rather than make accusations."

"You cannot accuse Helen of such things!" Mrs. Mainwaring said, and James could tell she was truly horrified, though it wasn't clear whether it was because of his own accusation or at the idea that her lifelong friends could do such a thing to a defenseless woman.

"Not only did Helen Cameron and her daughters starve Anna-Elizabeth," his mother told her, "but they told her brother she was dead, were about to let the Dragoons finish the deed when they burned Hart's Crossing." Before one of the trio facing her could object, Temperance added, "The English soldiers brought Anna-Elizabeth to Oak Point after her maid convinced James and Joran du Mare that she was still alive. She weighed less than a young child and was gravely ill. I will not allow her to return to them."

"It is not your decision to make, Temperance," Mrs. Gaspard added. "It's Will's decision to reclaim his wife, who must obey him."

"Then why are you here in his stead?" James demanded. It was beyond rude of him, but he was past the point of caring. "Will has made no real effort, other than his attack on Anna-Elizabeth this morning, to reclaim her. Instead, the three of you have come to shame her into returning to her abusive husband. I think it's fair to say that Will does not want his wife back enough to come and get her himself."

"James!" his mother hissed.

"You should control your son, Temperance!" Constance Patton snapped.

"I will not apologize," he told the woman calmly. "You have come into my home, made accusations you cannot substantiate, and attempted to force a guest of my family's into endangering herself. Anna-Elizabeth has given you her answer." He stood. "If I may see you out?"

Once they had filed out of the parlor, were given their cloaks, and ushered out the front door. James returned to his mother and Beth.

"You should not have interfered, James," Beth told him. "Your mother and I could have managed them without your assistance."

His first instinct was to lash out, but he stopped, aware he'd burned the bridges he had earlier thought his mother should not. He turned to his mother. "I am sorry—"

"I'm not, and even if I were, it is done," she told him. "Those insufferable women dared to threaten me—us—and while I wish you had been more cautious in your words, I am simply grateful that they are gone."

"I believe it is time I left as well," Beth said quietly.

Temperance snorted. "And let them win? Absolutely not, my dear. James will be gone tomorrow, and the gossip will die down again. I guarantee Rebecca Mainwaring will repeat to anyone who will listen every single word said here this afternoon. There will be enough doubt to let it go. Besides, as you rightly pointed out, James has not been in residence other than these brief visits since you came to live with us, and as long as you do not turn up with child, I suspect the fiction will stand. I'm sure what Charles Town is really talking about is that Will publicly abused you, and I'm equally certain they have decided you made a wise choice when you left him."

Beth, who looked acutely embarrassed when his mother finished, met his gaze, her own agonized.

"You must understand, Anna-Elizabeth," his mother continued in a more moderate tone, "that if you leave now, you lend their gossip credence. If you remain, then you send the message that you have done nothing about which you should be ashamed." She gave the younger woman a fierce look. "Do not let them shame you."

"They just threatened to spread the story that James and I are lovers," Beth choked.

"Then don't allow it to appear true."

"It isn't as simple as that, Mother," James said. It wasn't, either. She was correct that Beth remaining in place, especially if Rebecca Mainwaring did report what was said, would raise enough suspicions about the veracity of the story, but it was equally true that enough people would choose to believe it.

"As for you," she told him, "be thankful they did not broach Pembroke."

That reminder stopped what he was about to say. He wondered if his mother meant it as a warning. He was certain that if the rumor that he and Beth had cuckolded Will did not gather support that Pembroke would be the next volley fired. As his mother went in search of Bess to order tea, it occurred to James that she had committed her own breach of manners by not playing her role as hostess appropriately since she had not, apparently, offered refreshments to her guests. James turned to Beth.

"I am causing you and your family harm by remaining here," Beth told him.

"My mother has spoken." He rose and crossed to sit beside her on the settee. "What's more," he told her as he slipped an arm around her and gathered her to him, "she's absolutely right. You lend truth to their claims if you let those women intimidate you into leaving us."

When he bent to kiss her, she put her hands on his shoulders, held him at bay. "I think," she whispered, "that this must stop."

"Beth," he said grimly, but before he could complain, she shook her head.

"One of the servants might say something to another, who will then carry the tale home to their own mistress or master. You may not have outright lied about us, James, but you were not completely truthful about why I am here."

They had been discreet, he nearly argued, but then he realized they had not been. His entire household had to be aware that Beth slept in his bed. He considered that many of the slaves had family or friends among the slaves of others, and he also recalled that Beth's own maid had been given to her by the Camerons. It was possible that the maid had more loyalty to the Camerons than she did her mistress, and even though she had saved Beth from death, it didn't mean the girl would protect Beth from her former owners.

He sat back, considered how much the house servants generally knew about those whom they served, considered how it might be worth their while to share that knowledge with interested parties. As he was about to suggest Beth return Sukie to the Camerons, she lifted a hand to his cheek. "I love you, James, but I have no desire to harm you or your good name any more than I have already done."

"I think I've managed any damage that may have been done on my own," he assured her.

"I do not find such reassurances amusing, James," she said softly.

Nor did he, he might have added, but he could feel her body soften, and rather than continue to protest, he leaned forward again, pressed a very soft kiss on her damaged mouth. "I do love you, Beth," he breathed, "and I cannot bear the idea of you not being here when I return."

"Then this must stop, James, for now at least," she told him, and her fingers caressed his cheek. "Your mother is right. If I get with child, the truth will be more than obvious."

About to point out that they had managed to avoid that thus far, he stopped. No matter how careful they were, no matter what precautions they took, it was always a possibility. On the other hand, James found he felt a little disappointed, that he liked the idea of children despite his occasional exasperation with Arianna. "If you are never free of Will, what then?" he asked. "I have no intention of setting you aside, and I certainly have no desire to simply be your friend or maintain a fraternal relationship with you." He ran a hand over her waist and up to cup her breast. "Nor do I think you want that."

This time, she kissed him. "No," she whispered when she released his mouth, "but for now it would probably be best not to take the risk."

"What's life without risk?" he asked with a small grin.

Holding him off once more, Beth frowned at him. Before she could respond, his mother sailed in. "Let Anna-Elizabeth alone, James," she said, but there was no tartness in her tone. "I've sent one of the maids up for Katy and Arianna, and Bess will send tea in any moment."

His mother sat where the other three women had been earlier, and James settled in beside Beth. He heard feet on the stairs and smiled when Arianna barreled in and plopped on the cushions beside him. "I'm famished," she announced.

"You should have come down for lunch," his mother admonished her

The child grinned across at her. "One of your servants should have woken us."

"Arie, don't be impertinent," Beth said, a note of censure in her voice.

Katy arrived as the maid did and took a seat beside their mother. "I hope the two of you set those biddies right," she said to her mother as she accepted the plate of tiny sandwiches. James often wondered who thought tiny sandwiches counted as food, and when the plate was handed to Arianna, who scooped up several, he had a feeling the little princess felt the same. Beth refused any, and he did as well.

"What biddies?" Arianna asked.

"Arie!"

Looking around him at her sister, Arianna frowned and pointed out, "Katy's the one who called them that."

"Though she should not have said it," his mother observed primly as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to her daughter, "you should certainly not repeat it."

Watching the child, James wondered if anyone had ever before told the child she should not speak her mind. Arianna settled in with her tea, though, and at least acted like a model child until another visitor arrived.

Abigail Strong was one of Charles Town's most notorious busybodies. James rather liked the crusty woman, though she did have a remarkable habit of saying exactly what was on her mind regardless of her audience and the impact of her words. As she was shown into the parlor on Temperance's orders, Abigail waved James back to his seat and stopped short when she saw Arianna.

"Goodness, Temperance, whatever are you thinking letting that child sit with you for afternoon tea?"

His mother's consternation was easily read. Before she could respond, though, Arianna eyed the newcomer and asked, "Am I supposed to stand?"

Beth once more hissed her sister's name, and when James looked at her, the unbruised part of her face was crimson.

"You must be the little heathen who wanted to shoot William Cameron," Abigail said.

The child visibly bristled. "I have been duly baptized, so you shouldn't call me a heathen," Arianna shot back, "but I do wish to shoot Will."

There was a twitch to Abigail's lips. Beth set her cup and saucer on the table next to her and said, "If you will excuse us." James caught her wrist, stopped her from standing, and watched the child and the old woman stare one another down.

"I have always admired honesty," Abigail told her, "even in heathens."

Arianna's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing further.

"Do have a seat Abigail," James's mother said, and the woman crossed to seat herself in the chair between Beth and his mother. Only then did it occur to him that he should not be seated between the two sisters.

Once a maid brought another cup and the older woman had been served, Abigail turned her attention to James. "And what have you to say for yourself, young man?"

He smiled easily. "It's very good to see you, Mrs. Strong."

The woman cocked a sharp brow. "Since when do you call me anything other than Abigail?"

His smile broadened. "Abigail," he said with a nod.

"I've come to hear your side of this morning's upset."

Only Abigail would refer to what had happened between him and Will as an upset. Before he could say anything, though, she turned to Beth and eyed her face. "Then again, I believe no explanation is necessary," she said. "You must be the little princess Will married."

His mother introduced her, and Beth gave the woman a nod but said nothing.

Abigail reached out and laid a hand on Beth's forearm. "I've known young James since he was an infant," she said. "It's good to know there are still a few gentlemen left among our set."

It was more than obvious Beth didn't know how to respond to the woman, so James noticed she did as she usually did. Simply withdrew behind her polite mask.

Abigail removed her hand, lifted her cup, and fixed dark brown eyes on James. "Tell me about Pembroke."

His mother choked on her tea, had a short coughing fit. James eyed Abigail and calculated a few odds. He knew the woman liked him, knew that most people in Charles Town liked Abigail despite her forwardness and lack of tact, and he decided to gamble that she might prove a suitable champion. He recounted the tale, left in the part where he had been about to comply with Colonel Tavington's orders (because if she learned otherwise, he would have earned yet another enemy), and then waited for her to pronounce judgment.

"I always knew Will Cameron was rotten to the core," she sighed, shook her head, and sipped her tea. "That boy has always been a spoiled, despicable young man." James frowned at her, and she quirked a brow. "Really, James, as his best friend, how could you not have seen his unnatural nature?"

He didn't quite stop his jaw from dropping.

Abigail waved a hand at him. "I understand he's taken up with that Michael Henderson." She sighed. "Maybe the brute will kill him."

Arianna piped up then, "Will's more likely to kill him than he is to kill Will."

The little princess didn't wilt under Abigail's assessing stare, gave back as good as she got. "The little heathen likely has the right of it," she said with a firm nod.

"You have to quit calling me a heathen," Arianna angrily bit out. She looked at James and said, "I may want to shoot her, too."

Abigail cackled, and when she sobered, she told the child, "We haven't been introduced, you bloodthirsty little heathen, so tell me what you are called."

A mortified Beth did the introductions while James considered the possibilities a friendship with Abigail might offer the two princesses. It was obvious the woman liked Arianna's boldness, after all. He'd watched Abigail verbally dismantle the impertinent enough times to know that she was amused by the child. He also knew no one would dare breach the woman's home and call down her vicious tongue—not to mention tempt her to lay out the treasure trove of information she had on each member of society—so if Beth truly insisted on leaving or it became necessary for her to do so, Abigail might provide a safe haven for her and Arianna.

He looked across at his mother, who appeared to be considering the same thing.

Abigail stayed to dinner, though James excused himself when Jorie returned. They closeted themselves in his office so that she could relate their plans. "One of Will's spies managed to get himself caught," she told him with a sneer. The man was drunk, and when questioned, admitted he'd been set to see what they were taking to Cornwallis and that he was supposed to find out when they would leave and by what road. She detailed their plans to change their route at the last moment and, hopefully, thwart the rebel's plans—Will's in particular.

At evening's end, James followed Beth upstairs. She went to her room to check on Arianna, who had gone upstairs earlier to bed, while James went to his own. As he undressed, he hoped Beth planned to come to him, but given her words that afternoon, he had a feeling he might have to go after her.

Suddenly, he felt very tired, mainly because he knew he wouldn't go fetch her. She was, after all, right, but James didn't like admitting that. He could use the sleep, he told himself, and pulled his shirt over his head.

The sound of his door quietly opening and then closing made him turn, and he smiled to see Beth crossing to him. He opened his arms and folded her close. He nearly reminded her of her fears, but then he wisely remained silent, set about loosening her fastenings and stripping her dress from her. When he had her naked, he took a moment to examine her for any further damage Will might have done her.

Beth broke her own silence to say, "Bruises only, James," and he could see them on her chest and abdomen in addition to those on her face.

It was all he could do to hold his tongue, so he put it to better use than repeating the things he'd already said. James eased her onto his bed and kissed her bruises one by one before he claimed her mouth and then her body.


	27. Chapter 27

Some explanation is necessary. We get to the big battle mentioned in the movie here (eventually). In the film, it's labelled Cowpens, and those of you who know your history know two things the movie got dead wrong about that battle: Cowpens wasn't in October, and Cornwallis wasn't there. Since I started this, I've tried to decide what I wanted to do about that, and I went back and forth a lot. I finally decided to use real dates instead. I don't feel guilty about that since as others have written about the movie, it appears that climactic battle was actually a combination of Cowpens and Guilford Courthouse (which also wasn't in October, but Cornwallis was there). So we'll meet at Guilford in the spring next time.

As for Banastre Tarleton, he was in charge of the British forces at Cowpens—and he was only twenty-six. After the battle, one of the English officers did, reputedly, famously make the disparaging remark about Cornwallis having entrusted his army to "that boy." That boy, though, had a pretty spectacular career in the Revolt of the Colonies to that point. He was the model for Tavington, and I kind of put them together for this battle. Since Cornwallis sent his best soldiers to Cowpens, I figured Tavington and his men would have been borrowed as well.

As for James's new status, given the climactic battle scene in the movie and that he knows what orders Tavington was and was not given, it made sense to me.

Finally, thanks to those of you who have reviewed. It's nice to know how this is being received.

Oh, yes, and a reminder about the mature reader rating.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 27**

"I thought you wanted to put a halt to this," James said sleepily as Beth's head settled onto his shoulder and her body fitted itself along his side.

"We can stop after you leave."

He snorted, held her closer, not the least sorry for her change of heart. "That demonstrates a definite lack of will."

Beth stiffened, and James wished he'd found a word that wasn't the same as her husband's name. After a moment, she relaxed again and changed the subject. "What time do you leave?"

James didn't want to answer, mainly because he didn't want to think about it. "Early." He and Jorie would be up and gone near dawn to make the agreed departure time for Winnsboro. Instead, he encouraged caution: "Be careful, Beth. Stay out of sight, close to home."

"You should take your own advice," she answered.

"I don't have the luxury." It was true. He had his duty to the Dragoons, and the last thing he needed was to be prosecuted or hanged for desertion.

She said no more, and as minutes slipped away and she remained still, soft and warm beside him, James assumed she went to sleep. He, however, couldn't, kept rehashing the very long day, considered and reconsidered the possible outcomes of events. He may have done more damage than he should have when he took Will on publicly, especially since he hadn't killed him, James reflected, and he was leaving a houseful of women to brazen it out. He also knew Will and his family could do a lot of damage without physically harming Beth, and that weighed heavily on him.

"We shall be fine," Beth mumbled, and James wondered how she knew he was awake and what he was thinking. She lifted, slid a little further up his body and pressed a kiss against his jaw. "You worry too much."

He turned his head, caught her mouth with his, careful not to reopen her torn lip. "The situation merits some worry."

"If this were one of those multi-volume novels preaching morality and modeling how a virtuous woman should conduct herself," she said on a yawn, "I'm the one who should worry."

James couldn't help being amused, despite the fact that he didn't miss her point—women in novels who transgressed against society's rules, especially those regarding virtue, generally died at the story's end, often in childbirth. That message was, of course, supposed to make sure any readers knew the consequences of relationships outside of marriage and to frighten them all into submission. A surprising number of novels recounted the social and financial success of bastard children, though, he reflected, consciously noting for the first time the contrast. He presumed it had to do with English society's reverence for children despite their hatred of the sin that bred them.

He sobered, reminded again that much of the day's conversation had, at times, focused on the possibility of Beth bearing just such a child. It didn't upset him as much as it probably should since he knew that a natural child could be sheltered and given almost all the privileges of a legitimate child. On the other hand, if James had no legitimate children but Katy did, he would find it difficult if not impossible to pass Oak Point on to his own offspring. It would also ruin Beth—if she actually survived childbirth. He lifted a hand, rubbed his eyes and said only, "You shouldn't read novels."

"They're ever so entertaining," she said in the kind of vapid voice that could be heard from pretty much any eligible young miss in virtually any drawing room in the city about pretty much any recent fashion. Her voice dropped to sultry when she added, "And if one reads carefully and has an active imagination, rather educational."

James's hand roamed to her bare breast, cradled it as his thumb skated over her nipple and remembered the last time he'd had her naked in this bed and they had discussed her reading material. That long ago afternoon seemed like part of another life, he reflected. In many ways, it was, he realized. "I believe that's one of the reasons they're considered too scandalous for innocent young women to read."

Beth's hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, and onto his hip. "It's a good thing I'm not innocent then, isn't it?" she whispered as her hand shifted, closed around him and her mouth caught his.

Not bothering to make even a _pro forma_ protest, James gave himself up to her. Beth laid claim to his body, took possession, and had her way with him. Afterward, he mumbled, "It's a pure pleasure to be acquainted with such a well-read a young woman." His hands slid to her bottom and he gave it a squeeze. "Perhaps you could suggest reading matter suitable for a gentleman."

Beth raised herself from where she lay on his chest. "By definition—and some popular opinion, based on this afternoon's visitors—you are no gentleman, James," she teased. She kissed him, which took some sting from what he would normally perceive as an insult.

Returning to her earlier theme, he offered, "As Mr. Richardson's Lovelace found, there are some advantages in being anything but."

"Robert Lovelace had his appeal despite his appallingly bad behavior." She kissed him again. "I don't think Mr. Richardson intended him to be the kind of man whom women might find exciting, though, since he otherwise seemed to try and specialize in virtuous heroines who resist the Lovelace's of the world." James caught her smile in the darkened room. "I don't think there's a woman alive who did not find that character appealing despite his nature and his behavior."

His hand found her unmarked cheek. "You like badly behaved men?" That puzzled him, made him wonder again about the nature of women. He knew enough to know there was considerable variety in them and their quality and appeal, despite the fact that their society tried to make them uniformly the same. James figured that was more about predictability for the men who must manage them. Women, though, were a contrary sex, but he'd always been told women wanted a model citizen who could provide for them and give them healthy children when they chose husbands. The notion that boorish behavior in a man might appeal puzzled him. After all, by that logic, Beth should have remained with Will, not him.

"I would most likely take up Arie's penchant for wanting to shoot people if I ever met a real Lovelace," she assured him, "but I do find your transgressions rather appealing."

"I'm quite fond your own," he admitted.

"We are frightfully well suited, then," she whispered, and her hands began to stroke over his body again. "Hopefully, neither of us will meet a tragic end."

-X-

When it was time to leave, he carefully untangled his limbs from hers, froze when she stirred, but when she settled more deeply into sleep once again, he climbed from the bed. Caleb brought water for him to wash and shave. James did so quickly in candlelight and dressed once more in his uniform. He picked up his helmet and turned to leave the room despite wishing he could remove the uniform and settle back into bed with Beth.

"James?"

Beth's sleepy voice stopped him. He crossed to the bed, and she rolled over, squinted at him in the darkness. "Take care."

He bent, gave her one last kiss, and gruffly told her, "You take care as well."

Her fingers brushed his cheek.

-X-

James and Jorie were kept busy. The English army and the Dragoons seemed to be either constantly hunting or fending off a growing number of rebels. Shortly before Christmas, they again provided escort for provisions from Charles Town, and James was happy to go—if for no other reason than he could use the rest. While they were there, his mother assured him the gossip had died down, but the Cameron creditors had decided to sue Beth for payment, which had set tongues wagging again. Thomas Fountaine prevented their creditors from collecting from Beth, whom it was presumed, based on Thomas's arguments that she had no visible means of support and was far from her home and family, had no more means to pay than the Camerons did. After all, she had no property, Thomas had argued. The court—and Charles Town society—concluded she had no money of her own and lived on the Wilkins's charity.

That infuriated Arianna, who glumly told James that his lawyer, his mother, and Abigail Strong had all insisted the girl say nothing to correct Charles Town's assumptions, but since Beth had seconded their demand, she wouldn't. He waited in vain for her to demand he shoot someone or for her to announce she'd like to. He missed the little princess's normal reaction to what she perceived as slights, especially those directed at her older sister.

In his bed that night, he told Beth as much. She laughed softly. "Abigail Strong has decided to civilize my sister. I fear it is working."

"That's a shame," he said. "I rather liked the 'bloodthirsty heathen.' Perhaps I should have a word with Abigail."

"Don't you dare," Beth said and snuggled a little closer to him. "For once I don't live in terror of what might next leave that child's mouth."

"Have you other terrors?" he asked, and as the silence stretched, he wondered if Beth would tell him if the Camerons—Will in particular—had made further threats.

"Only that you will get yourself killed."

"I've no plans to do any such thing," he told her.

"It's not your plans that worry me, James."

He rolled her onto her back, held himself over her, and studied her face in the light from the still-lit candles. He was glad she had given up notions of celibacy and had decided to continue sharing his bed—when he was there to share it. He was fairly certain that was due more to the fact that Will had slunk away again, rejoined the militia, since James had seen him briefly once in a skirmish. The bruises Will had given her had faded, and he bent and kissed where they had been. She turned her face, caught his mouth with hers. He teased apart her lips and deepened the kiss. He stroked his hands over her, smoothed one along her waist and up to cradle her breast. Beth's hands slid along the muscles of his back. He released her breast, took the nipple in his mouth, suckled, and let his hand settle on the crest of her hip, caressed, before he let it glide down along her thigh to her knee. He bent her leg so that her foot rested on the mattress next to his own knee and stroked his hand back up the inside of her thigh.

"I should not allow you to distract me so," she breathed when he ran his fingers over her, applied slight pressure, and waited for the reaction he knew he would get from her. Her breath caught, and her hips moved so that she pushed more firmly against his fingers.

"Oh, but you should," he assured her, then used the added persuasion of a hungry kiss. If she was about to decide they shouldn't enjoy one another again, he was determined to dissuade her.

"You are a wicked man," she gasped on a hitched breath.

"By your own admission," he said against her throat as he recalled their conversation the last time he'd had her in his bed, "you like wicked men."

"Singular," she hissed as his fingers probed the damp heat of her.

He rewarded her clarification with a heated kiss and by sliding inside her, but once he'd done so, he didn't move.

"Don't stop there," she breathed as she lifted her hips in an apparent effort to encourage him.

"I don't plan to." He moved his own hips in a long stroke, then once more stopped fully inside her.

He enjoyed the frustrated moan she made as she lifted her hips again. He remained deliberately still, waited to see what she might do. She stared up at him, but he continued to hold himself motionless.

"James!" She pushed at him with her hands. He didn't budge. She gave him an astonished look that finally slid to angry. It looked good on her, he thought, that little pout with a side of arrogance. "Perhaps you should get off me so that I may retire to my own room."

Her prim words made him give her a small smile since the tone matched the expression. "Oh, no," he assured her.

"Then do something!"

Her frustration amused him. He should probably prove he didn't intend to deny her much longer, but her impatience made him want to see what she might do to resolve the standoff. "Any suggestions?"

Beth's eyes narrowed, and then her brows rose. He suspected she'd finally caught on. "I rather thought that by now you knew what to do in this position."

That had been practically a command despite her words, he noted. It might be interesting to further provoke the Princess. "Then, perhaps," he said, sliding from her, "we should consider something different—where you can instruct me." This time, her expression mixed incredulousness and confusion. He leaned down for a hard kiss.

"I think you simply want to shirk your duty," she told him.

James bit back that he wasn't her husband, so there was absolutely no duty-shirking going on.

The thought sobered him. He pushed himself up, knelt between her legs and studied her. He suspected that even if they were married, he'd never consider this a duty. It was pleasure, one he didn't seem able to get enough of from her, and he realized that if he lost Beth, if he ever gave in and married another, it most likely would be precisely that with whomever else he took for wife: a duty, a chore, something that had to be done. It was a duty he'd been taught was solely to beget children, and he and Beth had both agreed that that was one thing they could not risk.

From her reaction, though, that had not occurred to her. She lifted that brow and moistened her lips. She moved her legs, raised her right foot so that it rested flat on his chest, and she slid her left up the other side of his body so that her heel reached his shoulder. James cocked his head, noticed possibilities, particularly when she flexed the toes of her right foot into and out of his chest muscles. She smiled, put her hands on his knees and stroked them up his thighs.

While he took a moment to consider the logistics of the task, especially since their current positions struck him as awkward at best, he slid a palm up her left leg to the ankle near his shoulder. He turned his head and kissed the arch of her foot, noticed she liked that. Her foot was small, almost tiny compared to his, thin with a high arch, but the skin was soft, even on the bottom. He moved her hips a little, shifted forward slightly, and slipped inside her again. He began to move, noticed she kept her eyes on his, dug her fingers into his thighs. He'd probably have bruises where they imbedded themselves in him, but he soon ceased to care.

Her legs moved again, and he moved his arms to accommodate her as she wrapped them around his waist. Bending forward, he slid his hands behind her back and lifted her up against him. Her arms wound around him, pulled her tighter to him.

It took a moment or two to figure out the movements, but Beth helped, rocked against him when they found a way.

Afterward, he still held her tightly to him, and nibbled at her lips until her eyes opened. She smiled, loosened her own arms around his neck, and lowered her knees to the mattress. His own knees appreciated that it lessened some of the weight pressing down on them, and he kissed along her jaw, down her throat to her shoulder.

"You definitely know what to do on your knees," she whispered as she ran her tongue along the outer rim of his ear. "I do appreciate an imaginative man."

"If it may please Your Highness," he murmured against her neck as he imagined what she might be able to do on hers.

For a moment, he thought he had miscalculated with that. She leaned away from him, though her hands wrapped over his shoulders so she didn't lose her precarious seat. Her face was solemn as her eyes held his, appeared to seek an answer there. He was about to assure her that had been a joke, perhaps a poor one, but she softly said, "I have no wish to rule you, James."

There were many ways to respond to that, but each held traps he didn't wish to spring. He admitted something then that most men never would, "If that's the result, I suspect I would not mind."

Her lips twitched, nearly smiled, but she stopped it by biting the upper one.

Emboldened, he shifted his grip on her bottom slightly, squeezed. "I think, Beth, that you would never demand anything I was not willing to do." He leaned into her and slowly, softly kissed her. "Command me."

One of her hands stroked over his shoulder, up his neck and onto his jaw. "Leave the army. Take me home to Vallée du Falcon, and remain there with me."

His reaction to that was visceral. He met those pale green eyes of hers and bit back the instinctive _hell, no_ and then the equally instinctive _never_.

Apparently, he had failed to control his reaction, prevent her from reading it on his face, and equally apparently, she accurately read his expression because she told him, no inflection in her voice, "Do not provide such an opening, James. There are many things I could demand of you that you would neither want to nor be able to grant."

As warnings went, it was gently done, but he knew damned well she was providing one.

"Do you truly wish to return home?" he asked, and as the words left his mouth, he realized that given the terseness of his tone, she was probably well aware that he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know her answer. He immediately decided that wasn't true: he wanted one answer from her—her assurance that she had no intention of leaving him.

"Not without you."

Her sincerity was clear, her words soft, but James still wondered. It wasn't the first time she had suggested it, after all, though the last time it had been offered as an alternative to joining the war and as a way in which she could legally divorce her husband. If she stayed and if Will managed to remain among the living, the best they could have was a half-life. She could share his bed, he hers, but they could never publicly be a couple.

Despite the fact that James knew he would never voluntarily leave his home, he played his part, gave her a gentle kiss. She chased when he ended the kiss, and he allowed her to catch him.

Feeling the need to confess, he told her, "I will not leave my home, Beth."

Her hand rose, settled against his cheek. "I left my own, James, and while I fully understand what you feel, I cannot help but wonder if you have considered at all what might happen should your king lose this war."

It was harder than he expected to say, "The King has won all the major battles save one, holds South Carolina, Beth. I don't see how we will lose the war—not here, at least. The North has admittedly lost badly time and time again, but we have prevailed here."

"There are never guarantees in warfare, James," she told him softly. "It is possible to win the battles yet still lose the war."

He and Jorie had had several conversations that had run along similar lines, but he wasn't going to admit that. After King's Mountain, many began to wonder if Lord Cornwallis could prevail. The man was in a hurry to move out of South Carolina, to subjugate North Carolina and then Virginia, but many had noticed how shaken their commander was after the slaughter of Patrick Ferguson and his men.

"This is my home," he reminded her, just as he had done those other times they had discussed this. "I will not leave it."

As her expression slid to a deep concern, one he knew was solely about his welfare rather than her own, he considered yet again what might happen should the King lose his war. That possibility was more real to him now that the rebels had gained courage from the defeat of Ferguson, especially since Cornwallis seemed to have hunkered down in Winnsboro rather than pursued his stated goal. He had also seen how his fellow South Carolinians treated those on the opposite side from their own, and he knew what he would face if the story Will had spread of Pembroke gained support.

After all, he need look no further than the slanders against some of the English officers, men like Tarleton, to know how history would treat those who remained loyal to king and country if the rebels actually managed to win.

"You may be given no choice, James," she said. "I would hope that if it were a matter of your safety, your life, or that of your mother and Katy, that you would choose to live, leave."

Instinctively, he wanted to protest that it would not come to that. Instead, he sighed, pulled her close once more, and said, "We shall see what happens at war's end," before he distracted her with a kiss.

-X-

When they reached Winnsboro, they were not given a chance to rest or eat before they were sent out again. Cornwallis apparently believed that Daniel Morgan and his Continentals were intent on crushing them, expelling the English from South Carolina. He had decided to send the British Legion and Tavington's Dragoons under Tarleton on the hunt. Jorie handed him two hard biscuits with hunks of beef between them, the fastest food she could find, and they both swung back into their saddles to ride out.

Intelligence indicated Morgan, one of the rebel generals under Nathanael Greene, was on his way to Ninety-Six, a backcountry fort still held by the English. They gave chase, but then were turned around when a message came that Morgan was actually headed toward Charlotte.

The rain continually dumped on them, and the miserable, wet, cold and the sucking mud made James wish he'd done as Beth asked—left the army. Tavington drove them hard, and they averaged only a few hours of rest each night—if they got any at all.

One night, Jorie snorted and said, voice weary, "Happy Christmas."

James tiredly realized that it was—maybe not the happy part, but certainly Christmas. He grunted in return, rolled his blanket around him and shut his eyes, hoped for more sleep than they were usually granted and purposefully didn't think about his family or Beth and Arianna in Charles Town and how much he'd prefer to be with them. He nearly asked Jorie what she would be doing if she weren't soaked and tired, fighting a war for a king not her own. If he were home, there would have been church, followed by at least one hunt, a party, and a feast at Oak Point.

He supposed the rebels were kindly providing the hunt, but this one was far more rigorous than those James generally participated in when it came to this time of year. The food and alcohol would have been more than welcome, though, and he enviously thought of the feast Bess and her kitchen servants traditionally prepared.

The Christmas season ended much the same way, since they were still hunting, ducking, and feinting with the rebels on Epiphany. James couldn't remember ever having felt so numb in his life. The rain continued, and each time they had to cross a swollen river, they lost a few men. The ever-present mud slowed them as well. They doggedly pushed forward, though the water and the mud slowed them from the pace their commanders truly wanted. They had to rely primarily on foragers for food, and as winter set more firmly in, they returned with less and less. Months of armies and militia groups moving through the area had pretty much stripped anything edible from it.

He and Jorie barely spoke to one another, let alone to anyone else. James had found himself raised to Tavington's aide de camp, in the absence of other junior officers with seniority in the Dragoons, a thankless job he would rather not have had. James saw it as being a busybody, despite the fact that his primary duty was to receive and transmit orders for Tavington, who didn't, thank God, demand he act as personal servant or secretary as others might have. He was thankful the man didn't trust him as he had his previous aide, Bordon, and so didn't expect him to act as his personal spy on the men who served under him. He muttered at one point he'd rather be Jorie's, who as a member of a royal family was entitled to an aide de camp despite her relatively low military rank. She had, at least, been restored to captain.

She had given him a tired grin and pointed out, "I _would_ make you be my personal servant—starting with laundry and food, unless you could find a laundress and a cook who can keep up with us."

In mid-January, they got word that Morgan was in the northern part of the colony along the Pacolet River. He'd been joined by the militia leader Andrew Pickens and his men. Tavington was supposed to be hunting Martin, but Tarleton had demanded the Dragoons and a number of English regulars as support, so they were along for the march since Cornwallis granted his request. They rode hard, barely rested as they headed north. When Tavington learned Martin and his men had joined Morgan and Pickens, he'd exulted.

James, honestly, could have cared less. He was more interested in sleep and food at that point, genuinely feared he'd kill his horse if the gelding wasn't able to rest more. James would hate that, but he would do his duty, even though he sincerely hoped exhaustion wouldn't cost him his life.

When they ran out of food, James hoped they met the rebels and defeated them quickly—and that they could confiscate their supplies. Two days later, he had reason to regret that wish.

They had barely made camp, it seemed, before a messenger from Tarleton found him and told him they were to be on the march by three a.m. James had rolled to his feet, woke Jorie, and after tersely telling her to get up and get moving, he found his commanding officer and relayed the news. It was little consolation that Tavington was no happier, and James set out to find the other officers who would get the Dragoons mounted and ready to ride out.

Morgan had taken a stand near the Broad River, at a place known as the Cowpens. James had a moment where he hoped there were actually cows there and beef would be on the menu after the battle. He wasn't sure whether he cared much if that was dinner as victor or prisoner. It had been two days since he and the men had eaten, and they'd only had about four hours sleep in that time.

Mostly, he hoped like hell Will Cameron was on the field when the battle began, and he sincerely hoped he got the chance to kill him. Thus far, he'd not had a clear chance to do so, but if Will really had returned to Martin's militia, then James might finally get his chance to make him more fittingly pay for what he'd done to Beth.

When he was riding for his life from the battlefield after dawn broke, James reflected that an hour could seem hardly any time at all. That's how long it had taken Morgan to beat a vastly superior force. He knew they had suffered heavy losses, and he was just glad to be mostly intact and certain he'd live.

Unfortunately the same could be said for Will.

Dragoons were trained to fight on horseback and on foot, but James never left his saddle.

Morgan had drawn up three lines of militia in front of his troops, so when the English attacked, the militia had targeted officers, and they'd been damned efficient at hitting quite a few of them, removing them from command efficiently. James had a graze on his left arm, which left him still able to fight. Once they had fired, the militia retreated, which emboldened the King's men who pursued—and found the Continentals behind them. By the time the rebels' regulars surprisingly executed a bayonet charge, it was soon clear what would happen, especially when the militia reappeared on the left flank. It was an absolute rout.

At the height of the heated fighting, James had finally spied Will. James's pistols were empty, and he couldn't fight his way close enough to use his sword or his hands. If he'd dismounted, he might have, but James was certain that if he dismounted, he'd be captured or killed—if not both, given what had happened at King's Mountain and how quickly the battle moved in the rebels' favor, and the Dragoons had been forced to retreat.

Will had taken a shot at him, though, and mercifully missed.

When they finally pulled up miles from the Cowpens, Tavington was furious, and so were a number of the other officers. One shook his head and spat that Cornwallis should never have entrusted this to "that boy." It was true that Banastre Tarleton was little more than that, but he'd managed to win battle after battle—until he faced Morgan. Jorie remained silent, and James quietly asked if she was alright. There was a gash on her right leg, but she assured him the wound wasn't deep and the bleeding wasn't as bad as it looked. James had a few himself, though nothing deep enough to cause worry beyond possible infection. Both had the wounds tended by the surgeons when they rejoined General Lord Cornwallis.

Cornwallis wasn't happy with the resounding defeat they'd been handed. Jorie, who once more had gathered camp gossip, reported rumor had it the Lord General had placed his sword point in the ground and leaned on it so hard when Tarleton reported to him about their defeat that he broke his blade.

As he bedded down, James reflected that Cornwallis had sent his best troops under a commander who, while not still wet behind the ears, was very young and known to be impulsive, and they had been decimated. Lying in his cot, James finally did what he generally refused to do—seriously assessed what would happen if the rebels prevailed, won the war.

It wasn't lost on him who fought with those treasonous bastards on the Continental's side and in the militias supporting them. Several of them were friends and acquaintances, and while James doubted many of them would hold grudges when the fighting ended, he knew that there were those who would. He suspected most of those were among the lower classes, the ones who chafed at the powerful planters who made most of the rules in South Carolina for their own benefit. If the rebellion's rhetoric was codified into law, James wondered how many of them, rebel or loyal, would hang on to what they had and how many who had pulled the strings of power would retain their grip. He didn't care about power, but he cared passionately about his property, about his home.

When this was over, all he wanted was to return there, to quietly resume the life he'd led before the war came. He supposed one government was about as good as any other, and if the Yankees and the southern rebels truly meant what they preached to suborn and support their treason, then it was possible he could do so, that bygones would be bygones, and they'd all settle in to rebuild.

Pembroke weighed heavily on him, and as he increasingly did, he factored the lies he knew Will would tell into the equation. The wholesale destruction of a village's citizens was the one thing that would absolutely cost him everything, including his life, and he was well aware that Will wouldn't hesitate to exploit it, especially since James had no intention of returning Beth to her husband. It was possible, he thought, that in making laws for the new nation, the rabble from New England who seemed to drive the rebellion might prefer to ratify their own laws for their new nation rather than those of the southern colonies, and that meant divorce might become legal.

Of course, it would still be discouraged, and his neighbors would disapprove. As long as that was only social disapproval, James decided he could live with it and the dishonor he was certain others would think he'd brought upon himself by marrying a divorcee who had previously been the wife of his friend and neighbor. His mother and Katy could disassociate themselves from them by living elsewhere. If Katy married, she would go to her husband's home, after all, and since it looked like that husband would be Toby Henderson, James suspected the boy would welcome his mother-in-law. Since the Hendersons had supported the rebellion, Katy and his mother should suffer little.

If it led to financial discrimination, though, he wouldn't be able to keep Oak Point all that long, wouldn't be able to provide for his family or his people. He was well aware that merchants could be influenced not to buy his crops, could refuse to sell him what he needed to continue planting, and if that happened, he would be ruined.

As he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that one resounding loss didn't necessarily mean all was lost, but he couldn't quite escape the suspicion that the English were about to lose control of South Carolina if not the entire southern campaign.


	28. Chapter 28

Once more, thanks to those of you who review. Thanks, too, to all of you who read this.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 28**

When they rode toward North Carolina, James felt a pang. There would be no more trips to Charles Town, no fast visits to Oak Point. Their orders were to follow Greene and Morgan and their men and, hopefully, catch and defeat them, preferably before they could cross the Dan River. Eventually, they were to make their way to Virginia. Days earlier, when it became obvious they were on the wrong road and headed in the wrong direction, Jorie gave an exasperated growl shortly after they turned around: "Can't they find anyone who knows the area and who can get us the hell out of here?"

James wondered at her rare temper, but he held his counsel. If she wanted to talk, she would, and he'd just have to wait until she was ready to do so. Something clearly bothered her, but she held her feelings so closely most of the time that he had difficulty reading her. It occurred to him that she was far more masculine in that regard than a lot of men they served with, many of whom simply spouted whatever popped into their heads, most of which, he admitted, was nonsense much of the time. Still, he sympathized with her viewpoint. They were hampered by a lack of knowledge of the area while the rebels were getting considerable help from those who did, indeed, know it and its resources.

That night, Jorie wearily ran a hand over her queued hair, squeezed what water she could from the lengthening braid, and sighed heavily. "I'd give anything for somewhere dry, some decent food, and some of your Bess's chocolate cake."

Almost too exhausted to respond, James was in complete sympathy with her wish. He eyed the young woman and said, "Your lips to God's ears." He wrapped a blanket more tightly around himself and wondered if there was whiskey close enough to hand that he wouldn't have to get up and go find it. It would go a ways toward taking the bite off the cold, wet air. He yawned. "While you're at it, ask Him to send us back to South Carolina." He shut up then, wondered if he could blame that last sentiment on his exhaustion rather than being lovesick over Jorie's sister.

For once, she didn't make a joke. Instead, she reached for her cartridge bag and retrieved a flask. Handing it to him when she'd taken a swallow, she told him, "Rumor has it his lordship's orders were to hold Charles Town and the rest of South Carolina at all costs, so why are we leaving both to whatever fate may befall them?"

Too tired to reason out an answer, James simply shrugged, took his own swallow from her flask and handed it back. He'd already heard it from Tavington, who hoped he'd still get the chance to run Benjamin Martin to ground and kill him. Since James felt the same way about Will Cameron, he felt some sympathy for his Colonel. It was true, though, that few South Carolina militias chose to stray far from home, tended to remain within the colony's borders where their particular interests lay. Both armies seemed to believe that the notoriously unreliable militiamen would fight harder for their homes than for land and people not their own.

Of a more pressing concern for James was that the English army's current movements took him further from home, from Beth. If something happened, he would learn too late, which made him worry all the more, especially since Will seemed to come and go from Martin's militia. It was also entirely possible Martin might decide to remain in South Carolina. Then again, the man was as determined to kill the Green Dragoon's commanding officer as James's colonel was to kill the Ghost, so chance might well afford Martin and Tavington their longed-for opportunity.

On the road again, though, his greatest concern was the quagmire created by the continual rain mixing with the red clay of the roads. At night it froze into jagged ridges. It was hard going, and slow, which made their senior officers even more impatient. To make matters worse, each time they reached a swollen river, they lost men and horses, and replacements for both were hard to find. The King's Friends, as they were styled, seemed to have deserted the King of late, James thought sourly. So, too, had some of the King's men, for that matter.

When Cornwallis ordered the baggage burned at Ramsour's Mill, James considered protesting, but he kept his mouth shut, as did the other officers. It was beyond foolish. He understood that without the wagons, tents, camp furniture, and little personal luxuries, they could move faster, but given Cornwallis intended to rid them of the food, too, James bit back fury. The man should have noticed by then that there was little that could be scrounged or scavenged, and given the man had to continually repeat his orders to his officers and the Hessians to stop burning homes and looting property, James would have thought he'd at least keep the food and drink rations to minimize temptation.

James, as did the other officers, let all but his horse's tack, the uniform he stood in, his weapons, his ammunition, and a small packet of letters from the women he'd left behind go into the fire. Jorie, it seemed, had found a way to keep her small flask of whiskey, which she had managed to refill before the bottle that did the service was surrendered. She surreptitiously passed it to him that evening as they took their rest.

"It's a desperate act," she told him softly as she took the flask back from him. They'd each taken only a small swallow before she corked it and put it back in her pack.

"It's a foolish act," he returned.

"At least we can move faster without having to wait for or protect the wagons." Cornwallis had ordered all but four burned. The remaining four were for wounded. The problem was that Camden was their closest supply line, and they were leaving it further and further behind. On a more personal level, it also meant James essentially lost contact with his family, with Beth, since few messengers travelled the distance with any regularity, so mail was rarely delivered.

At least the Dragoons were often ordered to scout ahead rather than having to stay with the main columns, and occasionally Cornwallis sent them off to scout river crossings and gather intelligence from area Loyalists. James didn't know the area, nor did many of the others, so they were at the mercy of what they could learn from inadequate maps and those few locals who would speak to them. Much of the intelligence they gathered seemed to be useless as far as he could tell, and a lot of it was simply wrong, perhaps intentionally so.

Ever mindful of Pembroke and the stories that had followed him, James came to be known as a bit of an old woman about following Cornwallis's orders not to burn or loot, and he soon came to realize he was about the only officer who not only stopped his men from doing so but punished them when they did. Jorie did as well, but the others often turned blind eyes.

Once more, James pondered what might be happening at Oak Point. He hoped like hell it still stood. He could live with losing things—those could be replaced—but losing the house would set him back considerably. His father had often reflected that after a war, money was harder to come by, and this time, James was well aware Oak Point stood in the path of the conflict. He was certain one side or the other—or both—had made use of it, so he didn't expect to find much left when he eventually returned. He'd not heard that it had been burned, nor had he heard that anyone had claimed it, something several rebels had done to other properties, but he intentionally prepared himself to find the worst when he could finally go home. He was glad he'd sent copies of his deeds and other records to his English solicitor, would be able to prove his claim, if necessary, when the time came.

What he refused to consider was what he would do if the new government—assuming the rebels won—refused his claim.

He sighed, realized that he was no longer as certain as he had been that the King would prevail.

When they were finally given a day's rest, James, so tired he wasn't even certain what day it was, found a quiet place and slept. There was little food, no drink, and he was bone-weary. He had no idea where Jorie disappeared to, and he was too tired to much care. As he drifted off, he wondered sleepily if staying in one place for more than overnight meant their mail might finally catch up to them. Sadly, it did not.

From there, the news just seemed to get worse. Greene and Morgan beat them to the Dan and in a brilliant feint, managed to cross the flooded river. Cornwallis retreated to Hillsboro in a bit of a snit, and made a show of his army, hoped to draw supporters in. It might have worked, Jorie wearily explained one evening, if their own militia hadn't mistaken the Virginian Harry Lee for the British Legion's Banastre Tarleton—his uniforms remarkably similar to those of the light cavalry under the Englishman's command—and had some of Lee's officers not attacked the loyalists they met on the road.

As winter dragged on and spring approached, James considered carefully what his options might be following the war. If his side were the victors, then he would simply go home, rebuild, hope Beth would come with to live with him.

If they lost, he hoped he could retire quietly to his plantation and do much the same, live quietly with Beth, perhaps raise children. He told Jorie so one night while they mechanically ate whatever was on their plates. James had learned not to look too closely or think too much about it.

"And if exile is your only choice?" she asked.

There were options, he supposed. The West Indies where a few members of his father's family still lived, or Canada where one of his mother's relatives had settled after marrying a French merchant were both places he might find a new home. What he'd heard of the Quebec climate didn't much appeal to him, though, and he wasn't certain what he might do to support his family there. Land would be hard to come by in the West Indies, and island life didn't particularly appeal. He said as much.

Jorie prodded a lump on her plate with her fork and said, "There are other options."

Meeting her serious gaze, he wanted once more to reject the offer she had made many times. The problem was that he couldn't quite do so when it might turn out to be the only viable one left him.

There were advantages to her offer to relocate to her homeland—including the ability to have Beth as his wife, if what Jorie claimed was true regarding her sister's ability to obtain a divorce there. James still recoiled at the idea because he knew he and his family would be dependent refugees until he could establish himself. No matter how much of his funds he might be able to access before leaving or once he left for Europe, they would be largely depleted for transportation, buying land, and other costs to start life over again.

Many of the same objections he had to Quebec or the islands held for her homeland, but there were other concerns as well: it was a foreign land with a different climate than the one in which he'd been raised, so he would have to learn what he might be able to raise. From what Beth had told him one afternoon, the kind of agriculture he knew was not what was found where she lived, and he would have to pay labor, which would seriously cut into any profits. He would also have to learn new customs and a new language.

His greatest fear was that he and his family would be dependent on Beth's, and he didn't think he could accept that.

All he could offer Jorie was a non-committal, "If it comes to that."

-X-

March was wet and freezing as they continued to follow Greene and his men. Occasionally, parties from both sides met, skirmished, but no matter how much General Cornwallis spoiled for the fight that would let him finally crush the rebel army, Greene refused to accommodate him. James privately considered that lucky given that he and the other men on the English side were tired, ill-fed, and, in some cases, simply ill. They lost men nearly nightly, and James heard one of the English officers snipe that it was because the missing men had gone in search of drink.

James suspected they'd all have welcomed whiskey, he certainly would have, but he wasn't going to slink away in the dead of night to find it. It pained him to admit that was largely because once he was out of camp and on the road, he might decide to go find it at Oak Point.

On the fourth of March, the British Legion made a fatal mistake that affected the continued hope that the King's Friends would rally and support Cornwallis. A band of loyal militia with just that intent were attacked by the British Legion cavalry, and many were killed. Rather than bringing in new recruits, it seemed to guarantee there would be few if any who came to assist them against the rebels. To make matters worse, the following night the error was repeated, this time with drovers bringing cattle to feed the English army. That resulted in a greater loss than simply lost cattle as well as lost food. Who wanted to bring anything to the English army if they might die for their efforts?

During this time, the two armies remained approximately twenty miles apart, but neither commanding general seemed willing to let his troops off their respective leashes enough to engage one another in an all-out battle that might finally settle matters. James found himself wishing they would. Settling matters might mean he could return home sooner, and it meant he might get his chance to engage in a particularly personal battle that might resolve his own conflict with Will.

After a skirmish on the fourteenth, Tavington rode in wounded. James was notified and on his way to where the surgeon patched him up when he saw Cornwallis enter the surgeon's tent. For a moment, he wondered if the Dragoon's commandant had been more seriously wounded than he'd been told, but as he approached, he could hear quiet voices. One was Tavington's, so James halted, debated whether to turn and go or to enter anyway. The summons he'd been sent was reason enough to proceed, but he paused just outside the entry when he heard Cornwallis say with quiet firmness, "I will not tolerate a premature charge born of your eagerness for glory. Wait for my order."

Perhaps it was the use of the word _glory_, but James remained frozen, listened to the Lord General tell the Colonel, essentially, that if he disobeyed, he could give up any idea of Ohio. James walked away, thoughts awhirl. It had never before occurred to him that the English might be planning to carve up the colonies after the war, put them under the rule of what would most likely be the kind of absentee landlords he'd heard some of his Irish neighbors complain about. He supposed he should have considered such an outcome, especially since most of the colonies had been initially ruled by companies of men who never set foot in them. He knew it unlikely that he would lose Oak Point, but he wondered how those who might move west would feel to realize the land wasn't theirs and the owners might only be willing to lease it—provided they could clear and subdue the savages already occupying it.

Tavington again sent for him when he was finished with the surgeon, and when James reported to him, and after he was briefly dressed down for failing to appear the first time, his Colonel told him, "The Lord General has decided that tomorrow we will face Greene and his men at Guilford Courthouse." The man made a face and growled before he explained the plan to James.

They would march at daybreak. The Dragoons and Tarleton's Legion were to be the reserves for Cornwallis's army. There would be no regulars, no infantry, and no Hessians held in reserve with them. James knew that was because they had lost 400 men of late, and there weren't enough to hold back and mop up after the battle, particularly when they all knew Greene's forces greatly outnumbered theirs. Guilford was twelve miles, and Cornwallis meant this to be the battle that defeated Greene once and for all, settled the matter of rebellion in the South.

When he finally joined Jorie, James sighed. She raised her brows, said nothing. After a while, she said, "Food would make the wait go easier."

He rewarded her with a weary, grim laugh, though it wasn't remotely funny. There was none, and they all knew it. "Maybe Greene will be run off without his stores."

"Assuming he's had better luck foraging," she conceded. "I'd even settle for more of that gritty Indian corn at this point."

James shrugged. After this, he didn't think he'd ever want to eat corn again. "Shriveled apple, maybe, or a potato." He thought a minute. "I'd really like some fish," he said. He'd eaten enough lean, stringy beef that he thought it might be a while before he could face seeing its better cousin on a plate. He suspected he might make Bess happy and heartily eat his vegetables for a while. "Duck or goose would be a pleasure."

"Roast chicken," Jorie offered, clearly willing to take the diversion, "or even pheasant. Venison would be nice as well."

Thinking of the food stores they generally had on hand at Oak Point, James felt saliva pool. "Honestly, Jorie? I'd give anything to walk into the larder and liberate some cheese and a bit of bread, if nothing else."

"Well, if we're raiding larders," she said with a grin, "my uncle's cook keeps cakes, tarts, and pies. I wouldn't mind a few of those. A bottle of wine or two wouldn't be amiss, nor would any of that rye whiskey you keep at your place."

Shaking his head, he sighed. "This is only making it worse."

Nodding, she agreed. "With luck, tomorrow we'll all be fed, and at this point, I think we'll all be glad for whatever we're given."

James left unsaid that by this time tomorrow, they might be beyond the need for food.

-X-

They got underway early in the morning. Jorie, riding beside him leaned his way and said only loud enough to be heard over the horses, "The Ides of March."

James studied her, remembered his Shakespeare, and misquoted, "Et tu, Jorie?"

She snorted a laugh, and they rode on, silent. James wondered, though, if this might not prove as fatal for them as that long ago Ides of March had for Julius Caesar. Before they mounted their horses that morning, he'd handed Jorie a letter he'd penned during the night when he couldn't sleep and gruffly said, "Give this to your sister if the worst happens."

With a solemn expression, she'd thrust it right back at him. "Give it to her yourself."

He'd shoved it in his bags, hoped that if something did happen, whoever went through his things would see that Beth received it.

As they rode, he considered the fact that the letter was probably the most mawkish damned thing he'd ever written, so perhaps it might be best if she didn't.

-X-

It started badly. They received word that Banastre Tarleton, riding ahead with Dragoons from his British Legion had been injured in a skirmish with Harry Lee, fortunately not fatally and not enough to keep him from the fight. As they approached Guilford, though, it soon became apparent that this would be no easy fight. The terrain was covered in scrub, the hills thickly wooded, and that would hinder the English ability to maintain the tight lines that made them and their bayonets so fearful and so deadly. Cornwallis positioned his troops on either side of the road, and James eyed the narrow defile through which the road curved and realized that if Greene had half the tactical brilliance Daniel Morgan had shown at Cowpens, his men would use their advantage as the English moved through the narrow opening.

He waited with Tavington and the rest of the Green Dragoons on a hillside as the battle began. Militia were in the rebel's first line, and they fired twice then retreated, but not before Tavington, watching through a spyglass spotted something. James watched the man go on point, and somehow he just knew the Colonel had spied Benjamin Martin. For his part, James considered what Cornwallis had told the man the day before, and he couldn't say that despite what might be a golden opportunity to find and kill Will Cameron that he wanted to raise their commanding general's ire. Tavington, apparently, either had no such qualms or in his desire to skewer Martin didn't care. James couldn't say he had the stomach to disobey orders for petty revenge, and he was certain that was what Tavington was after. With disgust, he realized that so was he, though he didn't consider meting out punishment for Beth petty at all. Still, he intended to obey his orders even if his colonel wouldn't.

"Prepare to charge," the man told James, not even bothering to close and store his spyglass.

Startled, James, mindful of the conversation he'd overheard between Cornwallis and his colonel, countered, "Sir, we haven't been given that order."

The man either didn't hear or wasn't listening. "Charge!" he shouted, and proceeded to do exactly that.

James, with no other choice save mutiny, did the same and followed his colonel. At least _he_ was following orders from his immediate commander, he thought, even if that officer had chosen to ignore his own. It was the weakest of defenses in an army that prided itself on its discipline, he acknowledged, but it was the one he'd use if questioned. Angry, he spurred his horse and repeated the order to "Charge!"

They swooped down on the retreating militia, followed them over one cleared hill only to find the main host of the Continental Army. Cornwallis apparently ordered the regulars to engage, since they did so, and while James heard Tavington's own order to hold the charge as he saw what was before him, it was too late. They were already in the thick of it, and they had no choice but to engage the enemy.

The enemy was all-too-willing to engage them in return, and though he watched a number of his men fall—shot out of their saddles, mainly, though a few were pulled from them when they were surrounded by the enemy's men—James remained focused on retaining his own seat and discouraging those who attacked him. He was mindful of the fact that if he found himself on foot, he would have great difficulty escaping if they were ordered to retreat. He slashed, he hacked, and he hoped like hell no one decided to aim a musket at the inviting red target his jacket likely made. After all, their uniforms were distinctive, unlike Lee's Virginians and Tarleton's own dragoons.

It was odd, he thought, between swings of his sabre, that time seemed to strangely slow down even as he was aware of the rapidity with which events were moving. He caught sight of Jorie to his left, holding her own and still mounted, and then he was distracted by Michael Henderson on his right. His grin was feral as he swung at the man's arm as he reached for James to pull him off his horse. The bigger man howled when James's blade sliced through his arm at the elbow. James ignored the gush of blood and tried to move his horse forward. _One for Arie_, he callously thought, though the little princess generally expressed a preference for shooting people.

Then he spied Will several lengths just ahead to his left. James gave a cold grin at his former friend, fixated on him, and tried to hack his way to him.

Will leveled a pistol, and James focused on how to best dodge his shot. He knew it would effectively disarm Will and equalize the fight, so he was willing to run the risk he could avoid being hit. Just as Will began to pull the trigger, Jorie used her horse to knock her brother-in-law down. Will's shot went wide. She pointed her blood-stained sabre at James and shouted, "Don't!"

By then, Will was getting to his feet, and Jorie was soon distracted by the need to protect herself. James narrowed his eyes, wondered if she was trying to spare him having to explain to Beth that he had killed Will or if Jorie wanted the honor for herself. Either way, it didn't matter. He worked his way toward his former friend, but just before he reached Will, he was unhorsed, pulled off by someone grabbing a pant leg and the top of his boot and yanking him out of his saddle.

He hit hard, nearly lost his grip on his sabre, but he knew he had to get off the ground or be butchered, so he clambered awkwardly to his feet, mindful of his wheezing as he attempted to regain his breath. He had landed on his left shoulder when he toppled off his horse, and he feared he'd done some serious damage in the fall. He wheeled to find Will, which enabled the other man's fist to send him to the ground once more.

Despite the blow, this time, James got to his feet a little faster. He blocked Will's second swing, but it brought the man in closer to him. He knew, his training told him, he should simply swing the sabre and end him, but, instead, he used the hilt to smash Will's nose. Blood gushed, some of it onto James, who didn't care at all. That surprised him, but he supposed it was because it paid Will back in his own coin for what he'd done to Beth.

Will's hands went to his face, and James took the brief respite to dispatch another rebel before returning his attention to his former friend.

"You're not leaving here alive, James," Will spat.

"Then neither are you," he retorted, ignored the fact that the exchange made them both sound like a couple of angry six-year-olds.

"You stole my wife," Will tried.

James knew he had to hang on to his temper to get out of this with minimal damage, so he briefly turned his attention to the rebel charging him on the left and dispatched him as he grunted, "You didn't want her, and she wanted me!"

He braced himself as Will rushed him, ignored the expletive that escaped the other man, and realized he'd finally admitted aloud what they both knew. He had just acknowledged that he had betrayed Will with Beth. In his fury, Will managed to put James on the ground, tumbled with him, and then it became a wrestling match in the middle of a battlefield. That realization would have made James laugh were it not for the fact that it wasn't at all funny, not to mention dangerous as hell. One of Will's companions could choose to simply shoot him to save Will and get him back into the fray. A horse could step on him, or they could both be cut to pieces by sabres or cannon shot while they tried to settle this.

Perhaps that had been why Jorie warned him not to engage in this particular battle, he realized as he jerked aside to avoid Will's fist.

He shoved with all his might to get Will off him, partially succeeded. He smacked the hilt of the sabre, on which he had somehow managed to retain his grip, hard against Will's temple and then took advantage of his dazed state to knock him off and regain his feet.

Cannon boomed just as someone smacked into him from behind, and James fell on top of Will, who appeared unconscious. He shook off the man who'd come to rest on top of him and saw he was one of theirs, had apparently been hit by grapeshot. Just then, the English cannon boomed again, and James was horrified to realize Cornwallis had ordered his infantry to shoot into the melee, indiscriminately maiming and killing not only the enemy but his own troops. James remained on the ground, hoped the shot continued to miss him, and waited for the firing to stop so he could make his escape from the field of fire.

While he lay there, he looked for Jorie, but didn't see her. He kept his head down, and when the cannon stopped, the men around him scattered. He followed his own side to where they reformed to begin a bayonet charge. Once more behind their lines, Jorie rode up to him. She'd found his horse and thrust the reins at him. He clambered into the saddle, and she angrily demanded, "Gain any satisfaction from nearly getting yourself shot to shreds?"

He didn't bother to answer, wondered if Will still lived and whether he might manage a second engagement against him.

They did their jobs, rallied what remained of their men and pursued escaping rebels. At one point, James saw Tavington skewered on the bayonet of a rifle, and, knowing the man was as good as dead if not actually so, he wondered who would now command the Green Dragoons before he settled in to do what must be done.

As he and his men chased down some fleeing militia among the trees, he felt a musket ball hit him in his upper back. Another hit him in his left arm, and another in his left thigh. He retained his seat, though, and leaned over his horse to minimize the target he made. Jorie was ahead of him, and he saw her look behind and start to slow and turn her horse. We waved franticly for her to continue. He didn't want to be responsible for her riding into an ambush, because it was obvious there were rebels hiding in the woods and picking off who they could. The sooner she cleared them to the cornfield where the battle was still being fought, the more likely she was to be alright.

Another round of firing took down his horse, and James tumbled off, desperate not to be crushed by his mount. His head hit something, and he wondered briefly whether someone would dispatch him quickly or if he'd simply be left there to bleed to death.

The sounds of battle faded quickly, and James briefly wished he had never taken up this particular endeavor.

Author's note: When I decided to make this Guilford instead of Cowpens, I forgot a few key facts—like the South Carolinians stayed home. On the other hand, the details of the movie's battle seem closer to Guilford than Cowpens, so it made sense to me. I'll spare you the explanations unless you really want to know. I relied on facts as much as possible, though I did go with some of the movie scenery. In addition, Martin is obviously at Yorktown, so I'll go with he followed Burwell, who was patterned in part on Light Horse Harry Lee, so let's assume some of them were there.


	29. Chapter 29

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 29**

James was almost sorry when the ice-cold rain woke him. It was dark, and his body felt on fire despite the frigid water coming down on him. He could see the woods around him, but even the branches over him didn't do much more than slow the water pouring down. Part of him knew he needed to get out of the rain, out of the mud, but he simply lacked the strength. The shudders rattled through him while he took stock of the injuries of which he was certain: three bullet wounds, a shoulder that hurt like hell, and some stiff muscles. He felt frozen, weak, and he wondered that someone hadn't either come for him and taken him to shelter or bayonetted or shot him to finish the job and stripped him of anything useful.

Then again, maybe they figured the weather would finish him off.

He coughed, realized that the only someone from his own side who likely knew with any degree of certainty where he had fallen was Jorie. If she hadn't found a way to come back for him, they had either lost the battle and she'd retreated with the rest of them, or she was in as bad a shape as he was, assuming she wasn't actually dead. For some reason, the idea that Jorie could be killed was more troubling than his own predicament. He felt responsible, knew his actions that day had not always been the right ones, and he wondered if he might have to explain to Beth that he was responsible for her sister's death.

For a moment, his mind wandered to how Jorie might have died—if she was, indeed, dead. Had she been foolish enough to come back for him, and the rebels who shot him got her? Had she done her duty, gone back into the battle and been killed? He pictured the carnage around them after the Lord General had ordered their guns fired into men from both sides fighting hand-to-hand for their lives, pictured her lying amongst the dead and dying, and then he realized that his concern for Jorie had overridden his curiosity about who had won the battle.

Perhaps that was why females—Amazon mythology notwithstanding—were not allowed into battle. He gave a wheezing, coughing little laugh at the idea. Cornwallis would have been better off with a battalion of Jories than the men he'd had.

Then he laughed again. Weaker sex, his arse. That woman was anything but, and she was unhesitatingly lethal. Unlike James, she was also apparently focused enough to not get distracted by any desire to seek revenge. Sobering, he hoped like hell she was still alive, that she could at least let Beth and his mother know what had happened to him. If she wasn't, well, he felt a smile curve his mouth, then whoever dealt with her body was going to have one hell of a shock when they stripped it.

It wasn't funny, though, and he couldn't say he liked the idea of dying so very far from home or the idea of winding up in an unmarked grave.

Of course, he might not wind up in a grave at all. He weighed his situation as the rain strengthened, turned into even more of a torrent. He had fallen in the woods, far from the main battle, and it was unlikely anyone would come hunting for him. It might be more likely that he would become carrion, his bones picked clean by any predators in the area. He'd seen a few dead soldiers who had ended in such a manner.

It took considerable effort to roll onto his right side, mainly so he would stop breathing in the rain, but the pain was excruciating when he moved even a little bit. It would be easy to simply go back to sleep, close his eyes and let go, but he wasn't ready to do that yet.

Slowly, he moved each of his limbs, checked to make sure they still functioned. His left leg burned, and when he reached down to explore it with his hand, his left shoulder and arm screamed. He found the tear in his breeches from the musketball, but he couldn't tell if the wound was still bleeding or if the rain accounted for the wetness. He supposed the cold might have slowed the bleeding since he was still alive. He used his right hand to explore the arm and shoulder. He found a tear in his uniform on the upper arm, but he couldn't reach the shoulder wound. It had been late afternoon when he'd been hit, had his horse shot from beneath him, and it was now dark.

For a moment, he mourned Ares, who had gone far beyond what James should have asked of him. Even if he survived the weather and his wounds, it was doubtful he'd be able to find a decent mount to replace the gelding he'd brought with him—if he could even find another horse at all.

After a little more time passed, he took stock again. He was going to have to get up and get to some kind of shelter or risk dying from the combination of his wounds, the resulting blood loss, and the seeping, damp coldness. He had no idea how he would find his way to shelter, but he figured he had to at least try.

Resolving to do so and managing the task were, he found, completely separate matters. Each time he tried to move, his body protested. He lacked the strength to do much more than shift. Lack of food, loss of blood, and the biting cold were doing their work, he supposed, so he resigned himself to hoping he lasted until daybreak and praying someone might come looking for him.

He'd take simply stumbling upon him, James decided, and he wasn't sure he'd be sorry if it was a rebel who found him, even if said rebel decided to end him.

James knew he had a better chance of surviving if he remained awake. He would have thought the piercing cold of the rain would make sure he couldn't sleep, but as the night wore on, he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open and his thoughts clear. His brain started taking fanciful flights, and in his rational moments, that provided more worry for him than his wounds.

The shouted, "Over here!" made his head hurt, but at least it was nearby. He tried to open his eyes, but immediately shut them again when the light made his head split. In addition to his wounds, he felt raw, especially his throat. He felt like he was being slowly roasted, so he knew he'd taken a fever. If he was truly still alive, it was quite likely he'd die of some disease he caught during the sopping, cold night.

He wondered if it might be more than one disease.

Hands were on him, and he heard a familiar, steely voice threaten softly, "Die now that I've found you, and it'll be the death of my sister."

The laugh was more a cough, and his weak, raspy, "Not fair," sounded pathetic even to James.

"Don't care," Jorie returned tightly. "You live, or I'll kill you a second time."

The order made him want to laugh, but his chest had hurt so badly when he tried before, that he suppressed it. There were hands on him then, lifting him, moving him onto something that stretched when they lowered him onto it.

The next half hour was agony as they jolted him along in what he finally realized was a horse litter fashioned from a blanket. It was probably more comfortable than riding in a wagon would have been, but it wasn't all that comfortable given the two horses between whom he was being carried seemed out of step with one another. James only briefly wondered where he was being taken.

Later, he remembered the surgeon and his grim expression as he told James he'd try to him keep among the living, but there were no guarantees. He remembered a heated discussion between Jorie and someone else about whether he could go into one of the wagons, but he assumed the answer must have been no since what he remembered was feeling squeezed into something not unlike a hammock, remembered an odd swaying sensation. James suspected the litter was better than being crammed into a wagon with the other wounded if for no other reason that at least he was lying down and he was spared the moans and groans of other men who might die.

He remembered feeling like someone was trying to tear his lungs from his body, remembered thinking he might break a rib if he kept coughing, and remembered having someone force liquids down him now and then. He remembered being undressed and put in a bed, and remembered gratefully sinking into it, remembered thinking he was home where Bess would see to it he was well again.

James also remembered snatches of conversation, women's voices, mostly. One of the women spoke strangely, used _thee _and _thou. _It finally occurred to him that the woman meant him, and he dragged out of his sluggish memory the knowledge that members of the Friends—Quakers—spoke that way. He considered himself fortunate to have landed with someone who had likely remained neutral in the war.

There was a man's voice now and again, and James realized it must be one of the women's husband or father, since it was clear they were family from the way they spoke to one another, and through the fog in his brain, he finally realized the man was a doctor. A time or two, he thought he heard Beth, but James knew that was impossible, assumed it must have been Jorie and he was simply confusing the sisters for one another. He heard another voice that sounded familiar. This one was older, had the musical lilt of some of the slaves to it.

Once, the doctor, the slave, and whichever du Mare sister it was had a quietly rousing argument, most of which he couldn't quite make out even though he tried. He was pretty sure they argued about him, but he couldn't put the words together and make sense of them.

When he finally fully woke enough that the world around him was no longer a fuzzy blur, he blinked in the darkened room, looked around him. He'd hoped he had somehow been returned home, but the small room was definitely not one in either of his homes. It had whitewashed walls, and as near as he could tell, the only furniture was the bed in which he lay, a small table beside it, and the chair nearby. There was a single, narrow window, but nothing else relieved the stark white of the walls except for a closed door. He swallowed, noticed his throat still felt raw, and then he began to stretch his limbs gingerly, checked to see that he still had them all and that they still worked. As he stretched his right arm to the side, he encountered something resting on top of his sheet and blanket, so he rolled his head to see what it was.

James genuinely hoped she was no hallucination, but even as he thought it, he considered the terrible risk she had taken to come here, especially if she had been foolish enough to do so alone. Then he quailed at the idea that his mother and sister might well have come with her.

Perhaps it was his imagination, he thought again. Maybe he was still in the grips of the fever he knew he must have had. He eased his arm from beneath his covers and stretched it toward her, noticed it felt heavy and weakly shook. James wondered how long he had been ill that Beth—if she was truly there—had had time enough to find out what had happened to him and to travel to wherever he was.

He rested the back of his hand on her warm cheek since he couldn't comfortably turn it to let his palm shape to the curve of it, and wondered how she could possibly be wherever it was he had awakened.

As he watched, her eyes opened, and she smiled, lifted her hand so that it settled in his. He flexed fingers, felt hers slip between his. "I was so worried about you," she whispered.

"You should be worried about me in Charles Town," he croaked.

Her smile broadened. "Jorie's message said you might die."

"Your sister threatened to kill me if I did."

Beth's forehead wrinkled into a frown at that, but then it smoothed once more. Her hand lifted his so that she could settle it and his arm between them before she shifted closer to him on the mattress. "I might have helped her," she assured him in another soft whisper. The hand not holding his slid up his arm and onto his shoulder.

"Jorie wrote you?" he asked, remembering she'd said she received a message from her sister.

She nodded her head. "They left you here since they thought you would likely die and because Lord General Cornwallis wished to make his way to the coast before General Greene could gather his rebels and attack again. Jorie found someone sympathetic to the King's cause from just outside Charles Town whom she convinced to carry a brief letter of explanation and who, for the amount she offered to pay, was willing to do so as quickly as possible." Beth studied him a moment. "I sent for your Maman Martine, and she and I travelled here to see that no foolish physician did anything that would further endanger you."

James thought about the land she would have had to travel and thought it was extremely stupid of her to do so without a small army of her own to protect her, especially if Will still lived. It was especially dangerous if anyone she encountered knew who she truly was. He was about to tell her exactly that, when she moved, sat up and knelt beside him before leaning over and touching her lips to his.

"Save your reprimands, James," she warned softly. "I did not travel alone with Maman, and I did not do so overland until the final part of the journey."

He puzzled over that and nearly decided he must be imagining her after all.

"My cousin Frank brought me by sea to Wilmington and arranged passage by boat up the Cape Fear River," she explained. "The captain of the boat that brought me up river arranged for several men from his family to bring us the rest of the way."

"Where are we?"

The hand not still linked with his slid onto his chest, over his shoulder, up to the side of his neck. "You're in a home in New Garden, North Carolina," she told him. "Our hosts took you in despite the fact that most of the people here suggested the Lord General take his dead and dying and move on after a couple of days." Her thumb swiped softly along his jaw, and he heard a rasp of whiskers. "I suspect Dr. Frye and his daughter are in sympathy with your king, though they've not said so."

James took it that she had not asked, and he thought that might have been wise.

Beth's expression turned grave. "I told them I'm your wife, James, because I feared they would not let me stay and tend you otherwise."

He smiled at her, squeezed her hand. "I have no objections to that, Beth." He couldn't honestly say she shouldn't have made such a claim, though he wished so very much it was actually true. He wondered if Will still lived, if he wouldn't soon have the opportunity to make her lie fact. His smile broadened, "Since we're married," he began, but her concerned expression turned into a frown.

"Only for appearances, James," she told him firmly and with a fairly good imitation of one of his mother's soft, stern reprimands. Then she relented, "But once we have left the Fryes' to take you home, we shall see."

He gave her a sleepy smile, lifted her hand, pressed the back of it to his lips. "I have to return to the Dragoons, Beth."

"No, you don't." Her voice was tight. "They do not get another chance to have you murdered."

"It isn't murder on the battlefield, Beth."

"It could be."

There was no mistaking her meaning: if Will lived, he'd certainly do what he could to kill James. He suspected Will might have fired at least one of the shots that had landed him here, but then he let the anger go. After all, he had Beth with him, beside him in bed, and the others in the house believed they were married. If he felt better, he'd take advantage of that set of circumstances, but the truth was, he felt weaker than he could ever remember feeling, and just that much conversation had tired him.

James did think about her words. He could go home, probably with no penalties from the English army. He might even be able to settle in at Oak Point again, Charles Town even, and be left alone to get on with his life.

Regardless of how tempting the thought was, James knew he'd return to the army, do his sworn duty. Unless something was enough wrong with him that he couldn't sit a horse, wield a sabre, fight, he'd rejoin the Green Dragoons.

On the other hand, he thought, when she bent and kissed him again, there was something to be said for taking Beth back to South Carolina when he had healed enough to do so. He would take her to Oak Point and begin setting the plantation back to rights. They would stay on his land, avoid the wagging tongues in Charles Town, not welcome visitors, and live quietly together.

He brought his left hand up to cradle her cheek, clenched his teeth against the pain flexing his arm caused, and realized that the kinds of visitors they'd most likely attract wouldn't allow themselves to be turned away. Instead, he and Beth would likely trigger a scandal that would guarantee they would not be allowed any kind of peace.

"I love you, Beth, but once I've seen you safely on your way back to Charles Town, I shall resume my duty."

"You have a duty to your family, James, to your people," she told him, her voice a soft, angry hiss. "Your king has had his service from you, had your duty, and now it is our turn to have you back with us."

"If your uncle expected you to do your own duty to him, would you say no?"

The second he asked it, he regretted it. She immediately released his hand and removed the other from his shoulder where it had migrated once more, and then she sat back on her heels so rigidly upright it appeared she had a ramrod in her spine. "I would not, but this is not at all the same, James. I am a member of the royal family, the rules for me are very different—I may not refuse service to my uncle for fear it would set a bad example for his subjects. You, on the other hand, are not known to your king, you have already served him well, were nearly killed doing so, and now that he has, essentially, lost his war in this part of the colonies, your further sacrifice is a needless one."

"So we lost at Guilford?" he wearily asked. That would be a blow, and it likely explained Cornwallis's haste to reach the coast.

Beth shook her head. "Your lord general won, but his losses were inexcusably high for a man who had already lost so many men with no one to replace them." She sounded a little like Jorie there, but then he listened while she repeated what her sister had apparently written her about the battle and its aftermath.

James digested that and her angry tone. Then he snorted. Nathanael Greene would apparently have the last laugh, after all. He had made Cornwallis fight and then yielded the field, had likely retreated with most of his men while the English general's desperate order to fire into a hand-to-hand fight had cost him a number of his own men. Beth confirmed it as she told him what she knew. He sighed. "But we still hold South Carolina?"

Her mouth flattened, and she grimaced. "Charles Town is still in English hands, but the rebels are slowly retaking the back country."

That hardly surprised James, especially when it was no secret that the back country had never soundly been on the side of the king. Then it occurred to him that he had no idea how long he'd been ill. When he asked, Beth told him, "About a month."

Tiredness washed in. "Can we argue in the morning?" he asked sleepily.

As he was drifting off, he felt Beth settle in beside him, felt her head nestle into the hollow of his shoulder, and eased into sleep.

-X-

Sudden, sharp pain from someone moving his left arm woke him. Bright light streaming in the narrow window had him blinking as he turned to curse whomever attempted to tear his arm off. Mama Martine had a firm grasp of his wrist and elbow and worked his arm while Beth stood at her side and stared anxiously at what the wizened old woman did to him.

"Hurts like hell," he rasped, dismayed when he sounded weak rather than gruff.

"Means you healing, Mr. James," the old woman told him. "Got to move it so your arm don't go bad."

"Go bad?" he asked.

Beth was left to explain that they had been moving his injured limbs so that the healing muscles didn't atrophy, make it difficult for him to have normal use of them when he was fully well. Dubious, he submitted, gritted his teeth against the pain and locked his eyes on Beth.

When the torture was over, Mama Martine bustled out of the room, but Beth sat next to him on the mattress. "The doctor will be in to look at you soon," she told him.

James reached out and caught the hand nearest him. "Will he torture me, too?"

One of her brows rose, and a mocking smile lifted her lips. He knew he must be mending since, watching her, he considered exercising his limbs in far more pleasurable ways than he'd just been forced to do. He tugged at her hand, which only made her snort and shake her head. She clearly knew what he was thinking, but that still didn't stop her from leaning forward, pressing those lips of hers against his.

Seizing his opportunity, James opened his mouth beneath hers and tried to persuade her to reconsider his idea. He released her hand so he could lift his arms and spread his own hands on her back, press a bit. He hoped it would get her to rest more fully against him so he could more easily persuade her. He really didn't want to admit he wasn't entirely sure he was fully up to it, but he was more than willing to find out.

The door opening again had Beth ending the kiss and levering her body up, though he did his part to stop her by flexing muscle. He ignored the protest his left arm made and wished whoever it was would leave again.

A plumply pretty girl, probably not even as old as Beth, entered and sat a basin of water and a pile of folded cloths on the table next to where he lay. She had dark hair in a braid down her back and lively brown eyes. James let Beth sit up, though he would rather the girl left them again so he could convince Beth to get as naked as he was and then assist him in enjoying her body.

"You are obviously on the mend," the girl said cheerfully.

"This is Lucy Frye, James," Beth told him, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Miss Frye," he said with a nod.

The girl nodded in return. She looked at Beth then. "Hetty has begun breakfast."

When she left, James had a feeling he was missing something. He looked at Beth and was about to suggest they resume what they had been doing when the girl interrupted them, but Beth stood up from the bed, turned to him, and bent to fold his covers down. He smiled at her, figured she had the same idea he did. He felt tired again, but he supposed his "wife" could provide most of the exertion until he felt stronger.

Instead of joining him, though, Beth turned to the little table and lifted one of the folded cloths and told him, "Sit up, James."

Baffled, he looked at her, and when James realized she meant it, he moved to comply. She had to help him, and he watched as she shook open what turned out to be some toweling which she spread behind him. It finally occurred to him that she intended to bathe him, and he couldn't say he didn't welcome the idea. A bathtub, though, would be much more practical than trying to bathe him in the bed and provided the possibility, if it were large enough, that she might join him.

Seeing his expression, Beth said only, "You're getting out of bed today, and Lucy and her servant will change your bedding while you are."

As he watched, she picked up another cloth, this one much smaller, and dipped it into the basin of water Miss Frye had provided. Beth moistened his back before she lifted a bar of soap from the other side of the basin and applied it to the cloth.

She sat slightly behind him and began on his neck, worked her way to his shoulders and back. She paused only to wet the cloth again and add more soap. James endured it, mainly because it felt good, even when she went over his left shoulder and around the wound near it in his back. She was careful when she removed the soap, he noticed, didn't use too much water, so she had to make several passes to wipe his skin free of the spice-scented soap she used on him.

Finished with his back, she stood, eased him back onto the toweling she left over the sheet and pillows, and turned to rinse the cloth she'd used on his skin.

As she sat next to him once more and leaned toward him, James considered making a protest, but then he decided to submit without complaint. After all, if he was going to object that he could take his own bath, he should have said so before she began.

Besides, bathing him meant she'd have her hands on him, and James found there was no part of that to which he could object—other than the barrier provided by the cloth.

She began with his face, gently wiped the cloth over it and then rinsed the cloth and used it to remove the soap she'd just applied. "We'll wait a day or two to wash your hair and trim it," she mused, now focused on washing his neck.

Beth was almost disturbingly thorough, especially since James was aware they were not alone in the house. He wondered if the girl, Lucy, would interrupt them again, and then he wondered where the girl's father was.

One piece of his body at a time, he watched her as she cleaned him. Beth certainly took her task very seriously, remained focused on the movements of her hand and the cloth, and only when she was nearly finished, had worked her way to his shins, did it occur to him to wonder what he would wear. After all, his uniform was unlikely to be in any condition to wear, and even if it was, he had no idea where it was.

Anticipating his question, Beth lifted his foot and said, "I brought clothes for you from Charles Town." Her eyes met his as she wiped his foot with the soapy rag. "I mended your uniform, but I think it might be wiser for you to wear your own clothes while you finish recuperating."

"I didn't know you could sew." He wondered if she would take that as an insult. He remembered that when she first came to Hart's Crossing, his mother and sister had sworn she couldn't.

"I am not completely useless."

James chose to ignore that, asked instead, "I don't suppose Jorie brought my things so I can shave?"

Leaning toward the little table, she wrung the cloth before she draped it over the lip of the bowl of water and turned back to him. Her hand stroked over his jaw. "I might like you with a beard."

He'd always been clean-shaven. James's father had never worn a beard, and James had followed his example. The army frowned on beards, so he had continued to shave. Watching her expression as she studied him, he considered leaving his whiskers to grow until he returned to the Dragoons.

An inopportune tap on the door stopped him from suggesting she strip and join him. Beth stood quickly, pulled the bedcovers up over James before calling out for whomever it was to enter.

The man who did so was no one James remembered. He was a good eight or so inches shorter than James was, and his brown hair was liberally streaked with gray. The man was handsome enough, James supposed and sourly noted the man wore a beard. Whoever he was, he smiled at Beth—who smiled right back—before he asked James, "How are you feeling?"

_Like I want to punch you_, was his first thought, but he squashed it, wondered if he had been unduly influenced by little Arianna, though she generally preferred shooting people. For some reason, that thought reminded him of Michael Henderson, and he wondered if he'd cut the arm entirely off and whether the man had survived the amputation if he had. James herded his thoughts and answered the man before him: "Fine."

He didn't think he imagined the slight twitch in the man's lips. "I see you are a man who guards his words."

Beth moved away from the side of the bed, and the man took her place. "I'm Lucas Frye," he said as he began to examine James's shoulder. There had been no bandages when Beth began his bath, so now James looked at the damage the bullet had done to his upper arm. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find, but at least the raw scar didn't look as though it would be too large when it had finished healing, and at least it wouldn't be seen unless he wasn't wearing a shirt. Frye helped James sit up so he could look at the wound in his back and the shoulder.

When he finished probing the shoulder, Frye helped him lie back and flipped the covers over to expose only James's left leg. Amused that the man apparently felt the need to guard James's modesty and Beth's possibly gentle feelings, he met his "wife's" eyes a moment before he looked at it, too. As with his arm, there would be a scar, though this one would likely be uglier. James decided he was simply glad to still have both limbs, would be thankful for that, even if he found he'd need a cane or would be unable to do some things he had previously been able to do.

Frye covered him again before drawing the nearby chair closer to the bed and settling in it. He studied James a few moments. "You're a fortunate man, Captain Wilkins," he began. "When you arrived, I thought it unlikely you'd survive. You were gravely ill, most likely due to pneumonia. The other captain who arrived with you said you'd spent a night and part of a day in the rain after being wounded." He lifted a brow. "Truthfully, Captain, the wound in your back could have killed you, but add in the other two, and it's a miracle you didn't simply bleed to death."

James's eyes sought Beth, who stood several feet behind the doctor. Her face was ghostly, and she wore the worried look he'd seen many times before. He wasn't interested in making conversation with the doctor, but the manners he'd been raised with guaranteed he offered thanks to the man for treating him.

The other man looked over at Beth a moment. "In all truth, Captain, your wife and the negress she arrived with probably did you more good than I did. I've been taught to treat pneumonia with bleeding, but given your condition, I feared to do so would surely hasten your death. Your wife and servant seemed to better know what to do for you. I confess I've learned quite a bit about herbal remedies and treatments since their arrival."

"Beth has an interest in such," James said, realized he felt tired, "and she trusts Mama Martine's knowledge."

The doctor smiled. "Your lovely wife was rather insistent about your care."

"She has a way of getting what she wants," James said, his eyes on Beth, who gave him a look he couldn't quite interpret. He would stand by that assessment of her, though. When she got an idea in her head, he knew, she could be as determined as Arianna at her worst, so he would hold his position if she questioned it.

"As I've told your wife, if you feel up to it, it would be good for you to begin getting out of bed for a while," the doctor continued as he stood, "but don't overdo it and wind up ill again."

When the man was gone, James eyed Beth, who had moved to stand beside his bed once more. "I think I'd prefer to take my exercise here," he told her with a grin.

Beth snorted, shook her head. "I think you'll put your clothes on and go out to the dining room for breakfast. Then we'll see about exercise."

Certain she knew exactly what he had meant, he cranked up a brow. "We are talking about the same thing, are we not?"

A smile lifted her lips. She bent over him, gave him a lingering kiss. "I believe we are," she assured him softly and lifted her brows, "though I believe you might be the one who has a way of getting what he wants."

"Then it's a good thing you are my 'lovely wife,'" he said with a grin.

She found the clothes she'd brought him, patiently helped him into them. He'd been happy to find his leg would hold him when he stood to let her slide the pants up his legs, but James felt weaker than a newborn kitten once they'd managed to get him fully dressed. He sat on the side of the bed and tried to muster the energy to get to his feet again.

Beth stepped closer, and he pulled her between his knees and wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer and buried his face against her a moment. He noticed that moving his arms loosened the shoulder some. It still hurt, but the pain had dulled as he'd moved it to get his shirt and coat on, to pull on his boots. He looked up at her. "Beth," he began.

Her hands cupped his jaw. "James, for now, let us get you to the table, get you fed, and then we can talk privately."

"Suppose it isn't talk I want."

A gentle smile flitted across her lips. "Then you need your breakfast so that you have the strength."

Beth was significantly shorter than he, so he couldn't feasibly lean on her if his leg decided to fail him, but he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders nonetheless. Her arm stole around his waist, and they made their way slowly to the door and then down the short hallway to the dining room.

He had expected Hetty to be a slave, but it turned out the housekeeper was white and the source of the _thee_'s and _thou_'s he vaguely remembered from his recent illness. The doctor and his daughter were the only occupants at the table when James and Beth arrived. James ate what little he could manage, aware that Beth kept a concerned eye on what he consumed. The doctor did as well, and when the meal was finished, James realized he wanted nothing but more sleep.

Once more in the room he'd been given, Beth helped him remove his coat, turned back the clean covers, and helped him sit before removing his boots. He caught her hand as she was about to leave him, tugged it gently, but she shook her head, smiled slightly, and freed her hand. She walked around to the other side and climbed on the bed with him.

James had already begun to drowse when she settled her body against his.

"What about your exercise," she asked softly.

"Later," he mumbled, and let sleep take him.

-X-

For the next two weeks, his days went much the same, except that he began to regain his strength and was able to remain awake for longer periods of time. As they sat on the Frye's porch one warm afternoon, Beth told him in more detail about how Jorie had sent her a frantic message to come at once. James had trouble imagining the normally unflappable Jorie ever being frantic, but he didn't say so. Beth's face was solemn when she told him, "I think she genuinely believed you would die."

"Have you heard from her?" Jorie was a far better soldier than he, but James still worried about her, more so now that he knew from Guilford that the Lord General was capable of recklessly endangering his own men.

Beth nodded once. "I had a letter not long before you finally woke. She was still in Wilmington, though it looks as though they will move on to Virginia."

Wearily, James breathed in and then out again. "How did you arrive so quickly?"

She repeated what she had told him before, added a bit of detail about how fortunate she'd been that her cousin and _The Delilah_ had been in Charles Town when Jorie's letter arrived. "She paid someone handsomely to come straight to me, so I knew within two weeks." Beth shrugged. "Frank arranged the rest."

One morning he asked the doctor how much he owed, had planned to arrange funds to pay the man for keeping him alive and for providing shelter and food for him and for Beth and Mama Martine. "Your wife has already paid my bill," was all the man said.

It appeared that Beth was quite capable of arranging things on her own, though when James questioned her, she had shrugged, then smiled. "I am your wife," she'd told him with a teasing smile, "so what is mine is yours."

He'd given her a look but said nothing. James would see she was repaid.

As though she knew what he was thinking, she had leaned into him and said softly, "I shall take repayment tonight."

Leaning that much closer to her, he gave her a promise of a kiss. "I shall gladly settle my debt."

That night Beth undressed before she joined him in the bed. Since he had returned to the living, she generally wore a nightgown, but this time she slid beneath the covers and up against him without a single stitch of clothing.

James considered claiming illness or exhaustion simply to see what she would do, but it had been months since he had had her, and he was unwilling to miss an opportunity, especially when he knew he could linger in New Garden only a little longer. He had mostly regained his strength, and a steady diet of good food and plenty of rest had helped him recover much of his lost weight. He turned toward her, put his hand on her hip and began to kiss her, to stroke that smooth, soft skin and the familiar contours it covered.

Beth did not remain idle, one of his favorite traits of hers. Her own hands shaped over his body, carefully avoided his mostly healed injuries, and incited where there was little need.

It was tempting to rush, to get the first joining out of the way before he more leisurely reacquainted himself with the beloved, familiar terrain of her body, but he feared that the lingering weakness that still occasionally crept over him might prevent more than one expedition. James chose instead to savor her.

No matter how long he lived, he didn't think he'd ever forget the scent or taste of her. He could smell lavender in her hair, on her skin, and he could smell the unique scent of Beth as he kissed along her skin, suckled her breasts, tasted her mouth. For a moment he thought of the deprivations since he'd left her in Charles Town, and he decided that he could forgo all comforts save Beth. He doubted he would ever have enough of her.

She seemed to feel the same way. He was acutely aware of every touch of her hands, her body, her mouth on his own. As he slid inside her, moved within her, he recognized each sound, each flex of muscle, each breath, each beat of her heart, and James concentrated on her reactions, did what he must to make sure her pleasure washed over him as he found his.

Beneath him, Beth breathed in, and James felt the strength he'd built up ebb in the wake of very satisfying exertions. "I love you," Beth breathed next to his ear.

"I'm very glad to hear it—Mrs. Wilkins."

He felt her body recoil slightly. Lifting his head from beside hers, he gave her a gentle kiss, hoped she wasn't about to repeat that that would never be.

"I should probably explain," she whispered.

"You're here, with me, and no one is giving us lectures about morality or law," he told her. Watching her face in the night shadows, he suspected that becoming blush of hers had stained her face. "In my thoughts, Beth, it is who you are."

"It was Jorie's idea," she blurted. "She thought no one would prevent me from seeing you or caring for you if they thought we were married. She told the Fryes before she had to leave that she had sent for me and that we were married."

His kiss was soft, lingered. "Another debt I owe your sister."

"You truly do not mind?"

"Only that it isn't actually true."

Beth's body relaxed beneath him once more. She was about to say something but apparently thought better of it, for which James was grateful since it meant she pulled his mouth to hers, kissed him rather thoroughly.

-X-

James dreaded telling Beth, but there was no denying that while he still tired if he exerted himself too much, he was well enough to return to the army. He admitted, especially at night with Beth asleep in his arms, that he was tempted to resign his commission, go home, but the war wasn't over, and he'd signed on to see it through. He had a quiet word with Dr. Frye, told him he thought it was time to move on and admitted he wasn't sure how to see that Beth safely returned to Charles Town. The good doctor wrote a letter of introduction on Beth's behalf to his sister in Wilmington, and he offered James advice on finding a ship to take her and Mama Martine back to Charles Town.

He feared breaking the news to Beth, so he chose to talk to Mama Martine first.

"Your woman won't be pleased," she told him firmly.

It was difficult to bite back the smile, but he didn't correct her. After all, Beth was his. "She won't," he agreed.

"Your own mama, either," she added. Beth had told James of his mother's concern, and she assured him she had written her to keep her apprised of his progress. He had written her himself, and the day before a reply had arrived, one that told him, as Beth had done, that he had done his duty and that it was time he came home.

"I have disappointed many women in my life," he said, "especially my mother."

The other woman waved a hand, but she did nothing else to deny his statement.

Telling Beth went less well. She paled, looked stricken, tried to argue him into returning with her, but in the end, she acquiesced.

James chose not to resume his uniform until he reached Wilmington. He suspected that he might find travel safer if he appeared to simply be a gentleman travelling with his wife and servant, though he was well aware that if he was recognized and arrested, he'd be charged as a spy and hanged. After they arrived, he found passage for Beth and Mama Martine on a ship leaving the next morning for Charles Town, and spent the night with Beth at an inn. In the morning, he dressed in his uniform, escorted the women to the docks, and saw them boarded before he went to join other English soldiers on their way to join Lord Cornwallis.


	30. Chapter 30

As always, thanks to those who review/PM. It's nice to read how the story is being received and gauge what's working and what's not.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 30**

And that, was that.

James stood next to Jorie and watched as the remainder of their men laid down their arms. It had only been four months since he returned to duty, and he was almost too tired to give serious consideration to what would happen to him next. Though he had been assured that Oak Point still stood, he considered whether he would be able to find any peace there. After all, there were the lies of Pembroke, and there were many who would believe them now that the King's cause was thoroughly lost in the South. He was determined to try, though.

There was Beth as well, and James was uncomfortably aware that she was another man's wife. Part of him didn't care, but a part of him worried about her safety were she to agree to live with him, especially given Will Cameron might well decide to wage a private war with Beth as his excuse.

Perhaps it was true that God did punish those who sinned against Him. James had sinned, had broken commandments he had never believed he would breach, and not all of those related to his involvement with Beth. His eyes slid to where Benjamin Martin stood with his militia, including, he sourly noted, Will Cameron, who looked preternaturally unaffected by the war, unlike nearly every other man there. Most of them were tired, careworn, or injured. Will looked much as he had done when the war broke out.

What he wouldn't give for another opportunity to kill the man who had been his friend, to finish that particularly personal war once and for all. To do so now, though, would most likely prove murder, and while James had done more than covet the man's wife, had committed adultery with her, he suspected Beth had been right that long ago evening: he couldn't murder Will. James took a moment to ponder whether that was due more to his own sense of moral rightness or if it was because of how disappointed Beth and his mother would be in him.

There was, after all, his certainty that Will would see to it that their neighbors knew of his wife's betrayal of their wedding vows. James could escalate, could tell the truth about Will Cameron and his predilections, but it wouldn't matter. Beth belonged to Will by law, not to James, and there was very little he could do about it beyond flaunt society's conventions. Even a duel would be suspect, feed the rumors, though he would likely be cleared of murder if he killed Will on the field of honor.

Wearily, James stood and watched his fellow soldiers file past, lay down arms, as he considered life without Beth, without his home, too, for that was very likely to be the outcome. Rumors had begun circulating that the new governments of the former colonies might demand that those who had supported the King leave. If he lost Oak Point, he would lose his income, his wealth, and his ability to support his dependents. Part of him thought he should have stayed home the day Will Cameron met his fiancée in Charles Town's harbor. Not having fallen for Beth in the first place might mean the choices before him would be far easier to make. On the other hand, he had a feeling staying home that long-ago day would only have delayed the inevitable.

In the months since he rejoined the Dragoons, Jorie had continued to urge him to leave the colonies with Beth when the war finally ended, to take her sister where she could get a divorce. James could not. He had his mother, his sister, and their people, all of whom relied on him. If he left South Carolina, he would lose everything except the funds he had sent to England, and so would they.

A dark mood descended on him as he watched the last of the men surrender. His part of the war was over, and they had lost. He didn't think he'd ever felt anything like the shocked disappointment that washed over him as he watched his men submit to the victors when they'd been caught attempting to cross the York River to Gloucester Point. It had been a foul night, and storms had scattered a number of boats attempting the evacuation. Now, they were all formally surrendering. After all, the French fleet had defeated the English off the Virginia coast, and even Cornwallis saw that it was the end.

James found himself wondering how it could have come to this, how the world's greatest army could so decisively win battle after battle and then lose the war in the South. The northern colonies were not yet won, and James wondered how much longer the war would drag out there, how much longer the King would finance this part of what had turned into a war that spanned the globe. After all, America was far from England's shores, and it was quite clear that out of sight, out of mind must prevail with the King. Jorie's cynical observation had been that the English would quickly negotiate a peace and the war would soon be over in the entirety of the Americas. After all, much of their strategy had seemingly depended on the southern colonies.

All that was left following Cornwallis's own formal surrender was for James to take his parole and go home. He was not at all certain what he would find once he had done so.

"It was a good fight, James," Jorie said beside him.

"It was a fool's fight," he replied. Beth had told him so, and for a moment, he wished he had listened, wished he had done as so many others had and chosen neither side. They had all believed that when the English brought their army to South Carolina that the King's Friends would rally. They had not, or at least not in sufficient numbers, and James now felt certain the King had not had as many friends in the southern colonies as had been believed. Now, those who had come forward were likely to pay forfeits, and he wondered how dear those forfeits would be. He would gladly turn over money to keep his land, but if he were forced to relinquish his plantation, he thought they'd have to kill him to get him to leave it. With any luck, substantial bribes would suffice, but he had a growing conviction that the accusations regarding the burning of Pembroke would assure he could not remain.

Despite that, he found that he could not regret having chosen what he still believed was the side of right.

"What will you do now?" Jorie asked.

He sighed, closed his eyes a moment. "Go home. See if I can make peace."

"If you cannot?"

James numbly watched as Will laughed with Dan Scott. "I don't know."

"There will always be a place for you in my homeland," Jorie said softly, "for your family, too."

He turned and looked at the young woman beside whom he had fought many times, whom he had trusted with his life. He nearly asked what that place would be. He thought of Beth, a royal duchess, and he knew that he would not be allowed to marry her when she was free of Will, that no colonial planter with no country, no land, no home, and with greatly reduced circumstances would be allowed to marry into the royal family—no matter how much he loved Beth or she him.

"I thank you for that," he said, "but I don't believe I'll accept."

Jorie eyed him. "The offer still stands," she said quietly. "Don't dismiss it out of hand, James. I owe you my life and the lives of my sisters. I shall not forget either of those debts."

"I owe you my own," he gruffly but sincerely returned. "Your debt has been erased many times over."

They stood in silence, watched as others laid down arms, some with ill grace, though not as ill as that attributed to General Cornwallis when he had finally had to surrender. The man had reputedly sent General O'Hara to surrender his sword on his behalf, had claimed he was too ill to do so himself. Now, the Lord General's army was formally surrendering their own arms.

In a slight flight of fancy, James wondered if he could get passage to Charles Town on one of the ships anchored off the coast. He sighed. The best he could likely hope for was to be allowed to take parole before he went directly home rather than sail for New York with the rest of the army and be properly mustered out.

"I asked you once what your intentions toward my sister were," Jorie said quietly. "You told me then it was to love her, to marry her when she was free."

James swallowed thickly, remembered the night he had said as much to Beth's sister. He remembered how very close Beth had come to dying when Tavington ordered Hart's Crossing burned and how close to death she had looked when they found her. His eyes found Will once more, and his jaw set as he watched his former friend joke with the men around him. "She isn't free. Her husband still lives."

"There are ways to free her." Jorie looked up at him. "Many ways, and some quite legal."

"Not in South Carolina," he reminded her softly. After a moment in which he watched Will grin at something one of the other rebels had to say, he thought the other man's loss of his lover had apparently not affected him. James had managed to kill Michael Henderson at Guilford, he'd been told. He sighed, added, "I thought one of us would kill the other before this was all over, but there he stands, and here I stand." He shook his head. "I love your sister, Jorie, meant what I said then, but I have little to offer her even if I had the right, not while my own future is in doubt."

"In my book, James, you have more than earned the right."

-X-

Like many other officers, he was given quarters in a house in Yorktown. He had no stomach for the coming celebrations, would far prefer to have climbed on his horse that day and headed home. He had managed to find a new mount not long after rejoining the Dragoons. Fortune had been with him in that the owner was willing to sell, and James had, fortunately, the funds to hand to pay the man's price. James hadn't realized how lucky he'd been, given most of the decent horseflesh had simply been commandeered. He hadn't minded paying, especially since Rowan was fine mount, much better than what he'd been riding since Ares had been shot from under him at Guilford Courthouse.

As he made his way to his room, he stopped and asked a servant for bathwater. When it arrived, James washed slowly, wondered where Beth was, and wished she was there to bathe him again. He smiled slightly, thought of how much he enjoyed the way she cleaned him. He wondered if she was still with his mother and Katy. It had been months since a letter from any of them had found him, and he brooded, concerned for his family and for all of their futures.

Freed of the dirt and mud which had seemed constant companions the last months, James dressed in his newly cleaned uniform. At this point, he would have preferred civilian clothes, but he was a soldier for a while longer. At least it gave him an identity, which was more than he could say about what he might find when he returned to South Carolina. He had been an Englishman his entire life, and he wasn't sure he could now be an American. Nearly every certainty of his life was gone, and James floundered in his thoughts, not in the least confident about what life would hand him next. Jorie persistently held out hope for a life with Beth, but James, with hindsight, knew there was no future for him with the princess who had done even more to turn his life upside down than the war had, especially not if he did, indeed, lose all.

When he answered the sudden rapping at his door, he found Jorie outside it. They went together to the dinner sponsored by a handful of rebel officers. Tarleton, not surprisingly and despite the obvious breach of protocol, had not been invited. James knew that if Colonel Tavington had still been alive, he'd have been refused an invitation as well. Given the sin of Pembroke attributed to him, James was surprised his own name was on the invitation list.

He was thankful this one was a small gathering in a modest home not far from the battlefield since he was in no mood to be social. As they entered, Jorie grabbed his sleeve, grinned at him, and dragged him across the room to a large man in a Continental Army uniform. He met the gray eyes of a lean, dark haired man nearly as tall as James was himself. Jorie introduced him as her cousin Maldon. James bowed. He had never met a crown prince before, and he was soon thankful the man was gracious. He was still a bit unnerved by meeting the prince, mainly because he was well aware the other man could take offense for his involvement with Beth—assuming the prince was aware of that particular relationship.

Despite the fact that food was surprisingly plentiful, James found he was not particularly hungry. He said little before or during the meal, though he listened to the others talk. They all steered clear of discussing the war or its probable aftermath, concentrated instead on trivialities, social niceties. They were a motley crew, James thought as the meal progressed: Americans, English, French, and the two princes—or, more correctly, a prince and a princess.

"Much better," Jorie leaned toward him and said softly, having caught James's rueful smile at his self-correction.

Nonetheless, he was glad when the evening was over, glad to return to his room. He shed his uniform jacket and waistcoat, pulled his shirt over his head, tugged his boots off, rolled his stockings off, but as he was about to remove his britches, a soft knock on his door stopped his fingers. He started to ignore the knock, finish the job and crawl in his bed, but he didn't, walked instead to open the door.

His breath caught. Before he could think, before she could say anything, he reached for her, pulled her inside, and closed and locked the door.

He didn't ask what she was doing there; that could wait. Instead, he cupped her face and kissed her hungrily.

Her hands fluttered a moment on his bare chest, and then she slid them around him onto his back, pulled him closer. James's own hands went to her bodice. He had it off her in no time, her skirts, too, and before long they were both naked. James gave himself over to need, and Beth did as well. It had been more than four months since he had last parted from her in Wilmington, so long since he had touched her, and when he thrust inside her, all else fell away as he focused on how her body felt, how she tasted, the moans she made beneath him.

Afterward, he held himself over her on his elbows, his body still joined to hers. He kissed her gently, smoothed her red-gold hair back from her face, noted it had grown considerably since that long-ago day his mother and Bess had cut it when the Camerons had left her in their house to burn. He had a hundred questions, but he couldn't get a one of them out, so he soothed his hands over her, kissed her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks, her throat.

Beth smiled up at him. "I couldn't wait," she whispered. "I couldn't wait for you to come home to me."

"How did you get here?" he asked, his breath ragged.

"I imposed on an old friend," she whispered. "My father's cousin managed to get around the blockade once more. I've been with Maldon for the last month."

She pushed against him, and James rolled off her, took her with him. She began searching his body, and when he asked what she was doing, she told him she was making sure he had no new wounds since she had last seen him. He had a few, including one he'd acquired a few weeks ago from their skirmish with the Duc de Lauzun's Legion. It still looked a little raw, but that didn't seem to put her off. Beth kissed each one, and James, for a moment, regretted not having more to which she could tend.

When she had finished her inspection, he held her to him, ran his hands over her own soft, unmarked skin. She looked up at him, and he pressed a soft kiss on her mouth. "Will is here," he whispered.

She paled. "I won't go back to him, James," she said.

James kissed her again. "I won't let you," he assured her, pulling her closer. He didn't know how he would manage that, especially since he intended to return to Oak Point. He supposed, stroking his fingers along her spine, it didn't much matter what his neighbors would think given what they probably already believed about him.

"I love you, James," she whispered as her hands roamed his body.

He rolled her on top of him and said, "I love you, too, Beth."

She slid her hands under his shoulders and applied pressure until he sat up. Once he had done so, James wrapped his arms around her waist as she folded her own around his neck. He buried his face in the join of her neck and shoulder. He breathed in her scent, and told her, "I may have nothing to offer you."

"I want only you," she said softly next to his ear.

James knew he would not be enough, not in the end. She was a princess, and if he lost his home and his livelihood, he might soon be penniless. There were no guarantees he would be able to take his wealth with him, and most of that wealth was in South Carolina, much of it in property that was not portable. He didn't want her to risk all on him when he might not be able to support himself, let alone her. Jorie might well promote his suit, but he doubted she would be pleased with his inability to support Beth or any children they might have. He decided, though, to say nothing. Beth would only argue, as she had before, so he would take what time remained to them and store away the memories for when she was gone.

Beth began to kiss him, and James let her. He caressed her body, tasted what he could of her, and when she bent her legs beneath her and rose to take him inside her, he helped her, thrust up as she moved down, and they moved against one another, ground into each other, until Beth's breathing took on an uneven tenor and her movements became erratic. James held on, waited for her to lose herself before he relinquished control himself, groaned her name as his own release came.

"May I stay with you?" she asked when they were both breathing normally again.

"Will your cousin come after me with a pistol?" he asked.

She smiled broadly. "I sincerely doubt it. He let you leave his quarters in one piece despite knowing I intended to come to you."

James stared at her incredulously. The other man had not said a word, had not intimated that he knew James was Beth's lover. "Does your entire family know about us?"

"Yes," she said and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth.

-X-

He roused sometime in the early morning, not sure what had woken him. James, as had become his habit when suddenly woken, listened intently for a few moments. When he heard nothing that could bring him danger, he settled back in against Beth and slid back to sleep.

The next time he woke, it was to an urgent mouth against his skin. He let Beth find his lips before he began to stroke her, searched her naked body with gentle hands, paused to cup, to caress, to elicit moans and encouragement from her before he rolled her beneath him and thrust inside her. After months of privation, it was the ultimate in luxury for him to have the heat of her body beneath him, around him. He took his time, savored her, stored the memory of scent and softness and sensation for the time he was certain would come when she would leave him.

Afterward, he held her close, let her fingers and palms and mouth play over him, and that, too, he committed to memory. He lay there and considered how best to convince her to go so that he could quickly lance the resulting wound. In the end, he decided to see what might come, to not act until he knew it was absolutely necessary.

He decided to give mustering for roll-call and breakfast a miss, not caring if it would result in punishment. As far as he was concerned, he was no longer a soldier in His Majesty's service. He was a man who loved the woman beside him, a man who was reduced to counting hours before he had to let her go. James hoped those hours were many, hoped they might not end, but he was pragmatic enough to believe they were inevitably numbered.

Jorie's soft voice followed a faint knocking on the door that next woke him. James considered ignoring her, but Beth's worried eyes met his. He climbed from bed, pulled on his britches and went to open the door. Beth's sister stood there, held a tray she handed over, and said, "Don't leave your room today, James."

Before he could ask why, Beth did so. James looked over his shoulder to where she had sat up and held the covers to hide her nakedness. Jorie, too, looked at her sister and dropped her voice, "Will knows she's here, and he's looking for her. Keep her here, and stay with her, James. If he finds her. . . ."

James knew what she meant to say, so he didn't need to hear Jorie tell him. Will would take her, and this time he would likely kill her to keep her from James. "Anyone who asks will be told that you're indisposed, that a wound has become infected. I'll bring you food, so open the door to no one but me."

"I'll have to face him sooner or later," James said.

"Make it later," Jorie said emphatically. "Apparently, he and several of his men peeped in windows last night."

James thought about that a minute. If Will Cameron had been one of the ones looking in windows and if he had seen James and Beth, then staying in the room wouldn't matter. Will would know where to look, and he wouldn't come alone.

"Keep her out of sight," Jorie said as she stepped back, pulled the door closed behind her.

Beth ate her eggs and toast seated in the middle of the bed, unashamedly exposed. James looked his fill while he ate his share. When they finished, she handed her plate back to him while he handed her a cup of tea. She lay back against the pillows as he walked to the low dresser and put the tray there.

"However shall we occupy the time?" she asked in a sultry little voice.

James, eyeing her breasts, replied dryly, "I have no idea."

In the end, they made love, they talked, and it was only when he opened the door to Jorie that evening that he realized they had not spoken of a future beyond her vow not to return to her husband.

Jorie wasn't alone, though. The Crown Prince Maldon stood next to her. James opened the door wider and looked at Beth, who didn't even blush despite still being obviously naked beneath the bed's covers.

"Well, Anna-Elizabeth," her cousin said as he entered the room without sparing a look at James, "it's a very good thing I've received mail."

Beth's sister followed their cousin inside, closed the door behind them as the prince spoke. When James shot her a look, about to ask why that was relevant, Jorie shook her head, so he remained silent.

"And why might that be?" Beth asked. James noticed she didn't seem concerned, so, with luck, whatever prompted this visit wasn't something ominous.

"Because I believe we can put an immediate end to your sin against God and man."

About to protest, James stopped when Jorie smacked the back of her hand on his chest and gave him a glare that told him quite clearly to shut up and listen. He did so, watched as the Crown Prince pulled two letters from inside his jacket and crossed to hand them to Beth. She tucked the bedclothes under her arms before she sat up and took the documents from him. Beth opened one of the sealed parchments. Her eyes scanned it rapidly, and her mouth dropped slightly open in obvious shock. Worried by her cousin's words, James wanted to ask what it was, but she began reading it again, more slowly this time. A slight smile began to lift the corners of her lips. She broke open the second document and read it rapidly. When she finished, her green eyes shone when they met his.

Wordlessly, she held them out to him.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he was handed. His eyes shot to the signature on the first one and the elaborate seal pressed into the wax next to it after he read the introductory paragraphs. He couldn't help but wonder if it was a forgery.

Beth laughed and hitched the sheets covering her a little higher. "My uncle petitioned King George on my behalf for a divorce." Her smile was sunny as she looked up at him. "As head of your English church, he wanted to grant me an annulment—though his Parliament granted the divorce instead."

He shuffled the second document to the top, noted that it was, indeed, an Act that granted her a divorce from Will. He wondered if she understood the full implications of what Parliament had done by issuing her a divorce rather than an annulment. An annulment would say that she had never been married, a significant point given that the Church of England frowned on remarriage, and in some parishes, divorcees were not allowed to remarry.

"I expect you to honor your promise," Jorie said drily after James had dropped onto the edge of the bed and crushed Beth into a tight hug before he kissed the breath out of her.

"First thing in the morning," he assured her, though he wondered whether he would be able to obtain a license, especially since Beth was now divorced and neither of them lived in Virginia. The license was necessary if for no other reason than there would not be enough time to properly publish the banns. He knew they would be unlikely to get a license in South Carolina, so he would have to consult someone who knew Virginia law and could explain their options.

Jorie grinned wryly. "Why wait?"

James noticed their cousin folded his arms, stood taller and gave him a look that could only be interpreted as a threat.

Beth pushed at him, so James gave her a little room but didn't fully release her. He took his attention off her now-menacing cousin. Her expression was concerned and her voice a little wary as she asked, "What did you promise?"

"To marry you the second you were free of Will."

The smile she gave him then was bright enough to have lit the room on its own. "I'll ignore—this once—that you have chosen to collude with Jorie and make decisions for me that I am more than capable of making for myself—"

"And when your family allowed you to make that decision for yourself," her sister cut in, "you made a disastrous one that cost many thousands of English pounds to set right."

Beth raised her brows at her sister. "I concede the point," she said, "but I am a free woman again, and no one has asked what my wishes might be."

James stared at her thoughtfully. She had told him several times that she had been raised to think of relations between men and women differently than he had, and he wondered if she was about to insist on retaining that freedom and whether or not he had simply been a means to an end after all.

"Perhaps," she said and tightened her arms around him before she finished in a suspiciously meek tone, "I should simply consider myself fortunate that the husband chosen for me is one to my liking."

James bent and kissed her again.

Maldon cleared his throat, and James lifted his head, looked at him. It was Beth's sister, though, who ordered, "Get dressed—the both of you. There's someone waiting to see you."

After she and the prince stepped out and closed the door behind them, James studied Beth. She didn't look upset, but he'd had her tell him plenty of times not to order her about. He moved his hands to her hips, put several inches between their bodies, and then grasped her hand. For a second, he reconsidered, especially since he had never imagined proposing marriage to a naked woman. Not about to miss his best chance to keep her with him, he took the opportunity before him. "Anna-Elizabeth, would you do me the very great honor of consenting to be my wife."

For a moment, she looked as though she would cry, but then she smiled and breathed, "Yes."

James claimed her lips again. She climbed in his lap, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he considered how long they might be able to leave her sister and cousin waiting. Beth, though, obviously had the same thought. "Release me, James," she told him softly. "Let us get dressed, go see whoever it is that Jorie says is waiting for us, and then let's get married in the morning."

If it weren't for the fact they'd be too rumpled to be decent, James would have dressed in some of the clothes Beth had brought him when she arrived in New Garden. Instead, he pulled his uniform on once more and helped Beth with her own clothes. He comforted himself with the fact that he would soon remove them again, and after the morning, he would have the right to remove them whenever he chose.

He wished his mother could be present, Katy, too, and he wondered if Beth wished for more of her own family, little Arianna, perhaps.

James had to repress a shudder of disgust when he thought of her mother.

Beth gave him a worried look. He wondered why, and then he wondered if she truly wanted to marry him, if she might not prefer to simply leave the colonies behind, to forget them and her disastrous marriage, forget him.

"Are you certain, James?" she asked, and for a second he wasn't sure what she asked. She clarified for him: "Do you truly wish to marry me, or do you simply think you must?"

His mouth dropped open a little, and then he straightened, stared at her in consternation. He thought he had made himself more than clear on more than one occasion how he felt about marrying her—and he'd asked her, hadn't he? By now, she should realize he made his own decisions.

Then he looked at her, realized she had spent most of her life conforming to other people's expectations for her. He wondered if she had ever transgressed society's rules for her before their affair.

"I would not have asked you, Beth, had I not genuinely wanted to marry you." He hesitated. "I would prefer to do it at home where my mother and Katy could be present," he admitted, "but I have absolutely no doubts, nor do I believe I must because something other than my heart tells me so."

She rewarded him with another luminous smile, and James found himself answering her with one of his own. Hers faltered. "I wish Arie could be here."

James cocked his head. He hadn't thought to ask where her younger sister was, so he redressed that.

This time, a look of revulsion crossed Beth's face. "Maman came for her, but Arie refused to go." The revulsion turned to amusement. "She's with your Mrs. Strong. Apparently, the two of them are kindred spirits despite Abigail's vow to tame the little heathen who is my sister."

"God help us all," James breathed, amused beneath his horror over the idea of what chaos those two might manage if left unattended and with all of Charles Town at their mercy.

"God help us, indeed," Beth said with a little laugh.

As they were about to leave his room, James caught Beth's arm. "Someone will have to tell Will, most likely tonight."

"I do not see why," she said stiffly, her eyes falling to a spot somewhere on his chest. "He is no longer my husband."

Cupping her chin, James lifted her face so that he could see her eyes. "That's why he needs to be told. If he is looking for you, then I would prefer he not interrupt our wedding by claiming he is your lawful husband."

Beth bit her lip. He could tell she didn't want to tell Will, and while James would really prefer not to be the bearer of that particular news, someone did, indeed, have to do it. He wouldn't risk Beth, so he decided to leave her with Jorie and their cousin and do it himself. He knew a part of him would enjoy getting to tell the man that James would soon wed his former wife, and for a moment James felt a little shame for the pleasure the idea gave him. His mother would be scandalized were he ever to admit those feelings. The other part of James acknowledged being the one to tell Will could escalate out of control, might prove dangerous if not actually deadly.

He wondered if there was time to copy the documents or if copies had already been sent to Will. He'd ask before he sought the other man out, certain they would need proof for whomever it was they found to marry them. He assured Beth he would tell her former husband.

"Let Maldon or Jorie do it," she pleaded.

Suspecting she was worried about his safety, James couldn't help hoping Will would choose to pick a fight—or challenge him. He suspected that the only way Beth would be truly safe was if Will was gone permanently. As a result, he said only, "I will discuss it with them."

Jorie and the prince were waiting for them, and they made their way to the house where James had dined the evening before. They had barely entered the house before Beth broke away and ran to the man who stood from his chair near the fire. "Daniel!" she cried, followed by a stream of words in her native tongue James could not follow.

His jaw set. It was obvious Beth was more than fond of the man holding her, and James couldn't help wondering who in hell he was.


	31. Chapter 31

On the Way to the Altar 19

Many thanks to those who have reviewed or followed the story.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 31**

When Beth turned to him wearing a happy smile, James was sorely tempted to smash the face of the man who dared to still hold her.

That man, whose arm remained around her, was only a few inches taller than Beth. He had dark, curling hair and a pair of blue eyes that snapped with amusement. James was fairly certain that amusement was at his expense. It occurred to him that the other man looked a little like Will Cameron, only shorter and less handsome. He appeared to be not much older than James. When he finally showed enough sense to let Beth go, James saw that he wore a clergyman's collar. It did nothing to make him relax or defuse his anger.

After all, Protestants allowed their priests to marry. Beth was clearly quite fond of the man, and that alone was enough to raise James's suspicions of him.

"Daniel, this is James Wilkins," Beth said in English. He noticed her faint accent was slightly stronger, but it often was when she had been speaking her native language. "James, this is His Excellency, Bishop Daniel Géroux."

The other man's smile faltered a little as James narrowed his eyes and tried to tame the remaining hostility he felt toward the bishop. "Her Highness was my pupil," the man finally said, and James noted he sounded nervous, slightly defensive.

It was only then that James remembered the story Jorie had told him about what had happened to Beth at the convent, remembered she had mentioned a priest made bishop who had caused Beth to consider life as a nun. There was a moment where he wondered if the man wasn't there to try and convince her take the veil rather than remain in the colonies and marry James. It wouldn't be the first time a royal family had chosen to shut an inconvenient female away. He nodded curtly at the bishop, acknowledged he'd be much happier if Beth crossed to him rather than remained near the other man.

"For God's sake!" he heard Jorie mutter to his left. "He's here to marry the two of you!"

At her words, James relaxed, only then aware of how tense he'd become. He briefly wondered how Jorie had picked up on his distrust of the man and his motives, especially since James hadn't spoken since entering the room.

"I've done some research," the bishop said briskly. "Obviously, marriage by banns is out since we cannot risk delaying for the three weeks that would require."

James already knew that, so he simply waited impatiently for the man to continue. He hoped Géroux knew how to get this legally done—assuming they were truly going to allow Beth to marry him. James was well aware most of the colonies followed the Anglican Church's rules. He wanted to be absolutely certain no one could challenge the legality of his marriage to Beth, so he hoped the bishop had consulted the proper authorities. Beth crossed to his side as the man spoke, and James grasped her hand as it crept into his.

"Virginia law says that you may marry by license, but it requires that the license be obtained from the bride's home parish," the bishop continued. His eyes dropped to their joined hands, and James couldn't help wondering what the man thought. "I suppose Prince Maldon and I could provide a license, but it is possible Virginia and your own colony would not recognize the marriage if we did so. It is better we obtain one here if possible."

He suspected that the Camerons, at least, would do their damnedest to see to it his marriage to Beth would remain anything but legal, so James granted that as truth. He acknowledged the other man's observation with a slight nod.

"A third possibility, I've discovered," the man continued, "is a marriage bond." The bishop frowned at them, and Beth's hand tightened on James's. He shot her a look, realized she had paled, looked troubled. "Again, that must be done in the county in which the bride resides."

"Anna-Elizabeth and I have been here for a month," the Crown Prince stated. "Is that long enough to qualify?"

The bishop shrugged. "As I'm not a local, I do not know. You should inquire with the local magistrate." He sighed, lifted a hand to scratch absently at the back of his head. "I think the best option is what Virginia calls a minister's return. It means that dissenting clergy," he looked at James then, "that would be those not ordained within the Church of England—may marry couples provided said ministers record the marriages and file the paperwork in a timely manner with a court clerk." The man made a face. "The law allows only four such ministers in any given county to perform the marriages, but I feel certain we can find someone."

"You cannot do it?" Beth asked.

"I can and shall," he granted, "but I fear it will only be legal in our homeland if I do. It's best to make it completely legal here, particularly if, as Ghislaine claims, you and your husband intend to remain in the Americas."

"We do," James said firmly. Even if he could not remain in South Carolina, he had every intention of staying as close to South Carolina as he was able in hopes he could someday return—or, if he couldn't, then he wanted to be where his children could more easily reclaim their property.

"Then I believe we should find someone who can make this unquestionably legal. I've been told this accommodation was made primarily for the Quakers and the Anabaptists, so if they are willing to marry a couple who is not of their faith, then that is the easiest of the options."

The man rubbed his palms together and smiled at Beth. "Your uncle, on the other hand, wants this marriage made within our own church so that in his council's eyes, there can be no question as to the legality of it. After all, there are titles and property at stake, and he would like to insure that those remain within the family. As a result, he has requested that I marry the two of you as soon as possible. I've brought the necessary documents from Archbishop Moreau. As for getting you married to satisfy your countrymen," he said to James, "we'll see that properly done as soon as we identify someone amenable to conducting the service."

James cynically wondered if it would be possible to find a minister who would marry a couple who had committed adultery, especially when Beth had managed to legally divorce her husband.

"Anna's divorce won't be an impediment?" Jorie asked.

The bishop sighed heavily. "Most likely it will. It may be best to simply not mention the divorce."

Curious, James then asked, "Has Will been told?"

"Anna's former husband," Jorie clarified for the bishop. She raised her brows, looked at her cousin.

The prince's face was sour. "I've not done so yet." He shifted his weight, and James got the impression of a child being scolded rather than of a man who would one day rule a kingdom. "Fortunately, we were sent more than one copy of the documents, so I suppose I shall have to deliver his copies to Mr. Cameron and impress upon him their legality and their finality."

Remembering his discussion with Beth as they dressed, James began, "I'd be more than happy—"

"I'll do it," Jorie cut in neatly.

She wore a flinty expression when James shot a look at her. There was no question she was determined to be the one who did the deed, but James found he desperately wanted the honor. He'd take great pleasure in it, and if there was more than a little revenge to be had—petty or otherwise—all the better.

"Allow me," James said firmly with a hard little smile. "I know him, and I can make him accept it." It might involve fists, sabres, or pistols, but James would be quite happy to punctuate any statement regarding the demise of Will and Beth's marriage in whatever manner was required.

"You'll do no such thing," Jorie insisted. "If Will decides to make this a battle, I'll not have him getting a second chance to kill you before you can marry my sister."

"We'll already be wed," he pointed out dryly. After all, that was the presumed reason for why she had made Beth and him leave their bed that evening.

Jorie shot him an angry look. "You know very well what I meant."

He did, but it still didn't stop his desire to be the one who got the pleasure of convincing Will to let Beth go.

"Perhaps we should get this marriage done," the bishop cut in neatly. "Then you can all decide who informs the former husband."

As he stood next to Beth and clasped her hand in his when instructed, James thought it didn't seem quite right. While there were two members of Beth's family present, there were none of his, nor were there any friends save Jorie, whom he counted as such. For a moment he thought of the wedding he'd always assumed he would have: his family and neighbors surrounding him, the nuptials held in the bride's home followed by one hell of a party. Instead, he was about to get a late evening ritual with only the five of them present.

When they were positioned as the bishop directed and as the man began speaking the words of their faith's marriage ceremony, James decided it didn't matter so long as Beth was legally his wife at the end of it.

The only stumble came when they realized he had no ring for her. Prince Maldon pulled a heavy gold signet from his hand and shrugged as he handed it over with a promise that they'd "find something she can keep in the morning."

Examining it before handing it to the bishop, James realized it was old, and from the seal engraved in the metal, it was likely a state ring. That didn't stop him from sliding it on Beth's finger when the time came. Beth simply curled her finger to keep from losing it and recited her own vows.

And then it was done. Beth was pronounced his wife, and James gladly followed the bishop's instructions to kiss her. He might have done it a bit more thoroughly than the man intended, but James would make no apologies for it. They were congratulated, and then the bishop had them sign a rather more elaborate, beautifully ornamented document than those with which James was familiar that declared them married. James thought it was a thing of beauty, though he might have thought that even if it had been a plainly written document. It was a large sheet of parchment with the words inscribed with vividly colored inks. It reminded him of a medieval illuminated manuscript he had once seen. There was a leaf motif that decorated some of the letters, and what Beth whispered was her own crest had been incorporated into the design. The calligraphy was stunningly executed as well, so he was quite happy to find two copies, one of which he and Beth were presented with once it, too, had been signed, sanded, and dried. The other, the bishop said, would be taken back to Beth's uncle the king and to the archbishop to record the marriage.

When Beth handed his ring back to the prince, the man pulled her into a tight hug, kissed her cheek, and admonished her to be happy. Jorie hugged her sister as well while James shook their cousin's hand.

"I would rather hate to return and kill you if you turn out as abusive as her first husband," the man warned softly, "and if Jorie, Anna-Elizabeth, and Arianna all turn out to be wrong about you, I most definitely will." The hard look he gave James convinced him the prince meant each word. "I also understand that Jorie has offered you a home numerous times, but you've refused. For Anna-Elizabeth's sake, if it becomes necessary, assure me that you will accept our offer."

It was on the tip of James's tongue to refuse again, but instead he nodded. "Please take no offense if I say I hope I never have to."

When the prince smiled, James was able to more clearly see a family resemblance. "I hope the same," the man conceded, "but if all turns out well and it is never necessary, then I hope that you will at least bring my cousin and your children to visit. After all, one of them will eventually inherit Anna-Elizabeth's title and lands."

It was something that had never occurred to him, James realized, as the bishop shook his hand and congratulated him. Their oldest son would inherit Oak Point, and something would be set aside for any other children they had. James had never really considered what might happen to the property Beth had left behind when she came to South Carolina.

Then Jorie hugged him tightly, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and said, "It's about damn time."

James laughed at that. "I should have taken the Princess Arianna's advice a long time ago and shot Will."

Jorie's face turned grim. "Or I should have done it for you."

It threw a damper over the moment. He straightened, looked at the prince and said, "I'll tell Will."

The man lifted his brows, clearly surprised, but after a moment he shook his head. "No, I think it best one of us does so. Perhaps His Excellency might do the deed. Your friend might be less likely to do something unbecoming a gentleman if a member of the clergy delivers the news."

"Will was never a gentleman," James retorted. It was true, he realized. Will had acted the part for those he needed to impress, but when one looked beneath the surface behavior, Will had never acted as a true gentleman should.

He thought once again of Robert Cameron, recalled how he had looked up to the man he'd always believed good and moral, but there was no question that Robert had not only failed Beth but had failed in his duty to raise his son a gentleman. He and Helen had failed with Honoria as well, and James wondered how the two younger daughters might fare in years to come. He suspected they would prove little better than their mother and older sister, which saddened him.

Beth's arm crept around his waist. He settled his own over her shoulder, pulled her close. "I'm hungry," she said softly, and James took the distraction she offered. He bent and kissed her, wondered where they might find some food, especially since he had things in mind for his wife that night that would require her to have enough energy to fully participate.

Jorie had apparently heard her sister and said, "It's a good thing Mal and I have been too busy to eat as well." She stepped out of the room while the prince explained that he'd asked for a late supper and that Jorie had gone to see that it was now served.

The meal was less elaborate than the last one James had eaten in that house, but he didn't mind. As they finished eating, James began to calculate how quickly he and Beth might be able to take their leave. It might not have been the wedding he would have chosen, but this was his wedding night, and he intended to make the most of it—despite having anticipated the occasion the better part of two years before.

He caught Beth's eye, noticed she seemed to feel the same. She leaned into him, and he slid an arm around her once more. James didn't give a damn how she came to be his wife, he decided. He would simply be thankful she finally was.

When she lifted her face to meet his eyes and smile at him, James bent, kissed her softly, wondered how he could excuse them politely and take her back to his rooms.

"Take your husband to your quarters, Anna-Elizabeth," the prince said dryly. "I'd hate for you to scandalize His Excellency any more than you may have already done."

Beth blushed prettily, but the bishop chuckled. "I'm not so far removed from the world as that, Your Highness."

"Nonetheless," Maldon said, "we've other business to see to, so we might as well send them off to complete the remaining part of the legalities."

James nearly asked what he meant, and then he remembered that marriage ceremony or no, without consummating it, they weren't legally married. He had no intention of failing to complete his duty there. Unfortunately, that once more reminded him that Will had never done so, that most of what it had taken to free Beth from him should not have been necessary given that fact.

Jorie walked out with them after they took their leave from the other two men. Once James helped her sister into the waiting carriage, Jorie caught James's sleeve. "We'll see Will is told tonight," she warned. "Keep Anna with you and out of sight. Open the door to no one but me."

It was tempting to tell her he'd welcome a confrontation with Will, but he caught sight of Beth's anxious face. He nodded his agreement to Jorie, and as he joined his wife, it occurred to him that he hadn't actually said he'd do as she asked.

Once they were safely inside his rooms, though, he quickly forgot about Will. He turned from the door and simply looked at her. He liked the creamy, pale yellow of her gown. It seemed to deepen the red in her hair, and the thin vines running up the fabric matched the green in her eyes. She wore no jewelry, but her clear, pale skin needed no adornment. With that in mind, he crossed to her, cupped her cheeks in his palms and studied her eyes.

There were no shadows there, only warm regard, and James smiled at her before he bent and kissed her. He started slowly. When her lips parted beneath his, he was tempted to move things along more quickly, but he didn't, simply deepened the kiss and shifted his hands, let them trail down her throat to her shoulders, down further so that they skimmed over her breasts and found her waist before they slid to her back where he fingered the hooks on the back of her bodice.

Thankfully, Beth's hands did not remain idle. She removed the wide leather belt. She also removed its attached shoulder belt before slipping her hands inside his uniform jacket and up to his shoulders. He had to let her go so that she could push it off his shoulders and down his arms, but he didn't stop kissing her.

Even though it felt as though they had all the time in the world, James felt certain that wasn't the case. If Jorie told Will that night, he suspected the other man might immediately come looking for them, so he thought there could be reason for haste after all as Beth dispensed with his waistcoat and began on his neck cloth. He busied himself with the hooks on her bodice and then the layers of petticoats.

As he removed her shift, he maneuvered her to the bed. About to lower her to the mattress, she stopped him. That troubled look was back in her eyes, but James didn't want to put any dampers on celebrating their marriage. He decided to ignore her concerns for the moment. They would have plenty of time to talk later.

She evaded his mouth, though, so James stifled a frustrated sigh and straightened, held her lightly, and gave her an expectant look. He waited for her to reveal whatever it was she decided couldn't wait.

"I'm very happy to be your wife," she began, but neither her voice nor her expression matched her docile words. James straightened a little further, frowned. "I shall try to be the wife you want."

His frown deepened as he waited, apparently in vain, for her to finish her thoughts. About to ask what she meant, it hit him: she had told him that long ago afternoon when they first became lovers that she had not been the wife Will expected. "Beth, I would not have married you—even had your sister and cousin demanded I do so at sword-point—had I not wanted to." He flashed her a smile he hoped would reassure her. "You're exactly what I want, Beth."

She leaned back from him when he bent to kiss her again. He considered the matter settled, but it was clear she didn't feel the same. That thought made him search her face. Had she married him only because she thought she must? He was about to ask when she said quietly, "You are what I want as well, but I'm a little unnerved here." She gave a nervous laugh. "The last time I was in this position . . . ."

James's eyes narrowed as her voice trailed off. He very definitely didn't want to discuss her wedding night with Will. Then he reminded himself that she and his former friend had not consummated their marriage, and he wondered what she thought she had to tell him. He suspected he'd best hear her out, or it might be a very long night—and not an especially pleasant one. He looked around the dim, candlelit room and spied a spindled chair. He sat Beth on the edge of the bed and retrieved the chair, sat before her and took her hands in his. "Simply tell me what makes you so uncomfortable," he urged.

Her hands trembled in his, but she didn't meet his eyes, stared instead at their joined hands. "I thought I was marrying one man, but I found myself married to another, a stranger," she finally breathed out in a rush. Her eyes lifted to his when she said that. "I have no reason to think that will happen again, but I can't stop myself from thinking it might."

James nearly retorted that he would never take up beating her, but he stopped, saw that that was not her particular worry here. Watching her intently, he was pretty sure her concern was that their marriage might have been the key that turned Will into the monster she had been fortunate enough to escape.

"I would never intentionally do anything that would cause you harm, Beth," he promised. "I would never beat you, but more, I would never willingly hurt you in any way." He drew a deep breath, realized that was a vow he likely couldn't keep. "I probably shall hurt you now and then," he amended. "I'll say something careless, we'll argue, or I'll do something without thinking, but I promise, Beth, the man you married is the one who remains with you."

He watched, hoped she understood what he meant, but, more importantly, he hoped she believed him. After several very long moments, she tightened her grasp on his hands and nodded.

Just as he was about to return to where they had left off, Beth slipped off the bed, moved so that she was astride his legs and released his hands. His own went to her hips as hers settled on his bare shoulders. "I have no secrets from you, James," she told him softly. "You've seen me at some of the lowest points of my life, so please do not be wounded if I occasionally doubt that you can love me as you claim." She leaned forward, kissed him thoroughly. When she moved her mouth a scant inch from his, she met his eyes and repeated his own promise: "I shall not willingly hurt you, James, though I am certain that I shall also speak carelessly now and again, that I shall also argue, and that I shall occasionally do something without thought that wounds you. Please know that it is not my intent to hurt you when it happens."

Gathering her closer, he offered, "Simply promise that you will allow me to make amends when the inevitable happens."

Her smile was soft, gentle. "I shall, though I hope that you will grant me the same."

He kissed her this time, considered standing with her in his arms and tumbling her back on the mattress. Once more, Beth had other ideas. She put a little space between them, and then her hands found the closures on his breeches, and she swiftly unbuttoned them, pushed the falls out of the way, and James figured out what she intended.

It was a little awkward at first, mainly because the chair's seat was a little tall, which meant Beth's legs were barely long enough to stretch to the floor over his own so she could use it for leverage to move. James slumped a little in the chair to improve her access and to allow him to help her. It made it harder to kiss that beautiful skin of hers unless she leaned into him, but it did leave his hands free to roam over her, to stroke and to cradle, to cup.

He let Beth set the pace, at least at first, but when he felt her body begin to tense over his and her breathing shift, he decided enough was enough, and gathered her close, stood, and tumbled with her onto the mattress where he took over. There was a brief flash of thought that this felt a little different because Beth was now his wife, that he and only he had the right to touch her, to love her.

When they had both flown apart, James levered himself onto his elbows so he could see her face. Her happy smile held none of the shadows he had seen since he'd known her, and that made him return it with one of his own. He shifted a hand, lifted it to trail a finger across her lower lip. He bent and kissed her.

The only cloud for James at the moment was Will Cameron, who was probably somewhere nearby looking for Beth. Part of him wanted to get the inevitable over as soon as possible, but another part of him hesitated. It was hard to overcome a lifetime spent together, one spent as fast friends, and it was harder still to believe the woman beneath James was the cause of it. He'd heard his entire life that a woman could come between men, but he'd always thought it a stupid reason to end a friendship. Now, he better understood the kind of passions that could divide.

This wasn't Troy, though, and neither he nor Will were Paris nor Menelaus. Nonetheless, he would prefer they not fight a war with one another over Beth, particularly since Will apparently only wanted her because he saw her as a possession. James, quite simply, loved her. He told her so, and Beth's smile brightened even more.

"I love you as well, James," she told him before she pulled him into another kiss.

He let her go long enough to shed his boots, stockings, and trousers before he rejoined her in the bed. He was tired, but he had no interest in sleeping. Instead, he pulled her close, touched her, spoke of what he hoped for from their marriage. Unlike her sister, Beth didn't discourage him from returning to Oak Point. She listened as he explained what they might likely find, the work that would have to go into setting the plantation to rights again, and Beth occasionally asked a question or made a soft suggestion.

The one that nearly had him balking was when she asked if she could work on the gardens.

He had often noted the beauty of the gardens at places like Middleton and Magnolia, but he had always agreed with his ancestors that cultivating such gardens was at the expense of the crops. It took labor to produce and maintain such grounds, and James had preferred to own only the number of slaves necessary to run the plantation at a profit.

"I don't want something as elaborate as many of your neighbors have built," she explained. "I'd like to expand the medicinal and culinary gardens, though." Then she studied him, "But I miss having a beautiful place in which to walk or read. I don't need acres, but I would like a garden with a pathway, with flowers and shrubs, and trees." She shifted, and James was momentarily distracted by the slide of her skin on his, wondered if she had done that deliberately, but there was no guile in her expression when she added. "If it is the expense, I brought considerable wealth with me, though I did not tell the Camerons. I would be willing to use some of my funds to finance it and some of the restorations that may be necessary when we return home."

James had to admit he liked that she referred to Oak Point as home. "I support my wife, Beth," he told her quietly, seizing on the part he found less palatable, "not the other way around."

Beth cocked her head and studied him. "Funding a garden is not supporting you," she insisted. "I see no reason not to use my money on a luxury I choose which others may also enjoy."

About to retort that he was supposed to fund her, even her whims, he stopped and considered. After a moment's thought, he realized that when it came to money spent on Oak Point, he thought that his responsibility. His reaction likely was, in part, due to his inherited notion of the uselessness of gardens. His mother had sometimes lamented that the porches and the folly were hardly the best of spots in which to escape her duties for a while, so he reconsidered Beth's request.

The expense seemed unnecessary given he doubted they would entertain much. His marriage to a divorcee would likely guarantee that only their most stalwart friends would accept their hospitality. The fact that he had married Will's wife was likely to further discourage others. His neighbors who had supported rebellion were also unlikely to welcome or associate with a family who had supported the King. On the other hand, Beth apparently liked being out of doors, and walking or sitting in a garden was far less hazardous than riding alone if he could not accompany her—and he had no doubts she would ride alone if she found herself bored.

On the other hand, he was going to have to finance a number of other things when he was home again—not least of which was replacing lost labor. The letters he'd had from his business manager often accounted for runaway slaves and others who had simply been taken—often by militia. He would likely have house repairs, too. He knew some damage had been done to the house, and his man of affairs had listed that in his accounts. James was certain the house had been looted, likely more than once, so he would need to replace whatever had been taken.

"You may have your gardens," he conceded. "Let us see what's been done to Oak Point before we argue over who pays the bills for them."

The manner in which she thanked him had him considering other gifts he might give her so that she would be willing to repeat her gratitude.

-X-

When Jorie brought them breakfast, she looked exhausted. James wondered if she had told Will after all, so he asked as she set the tray on the low dresser.

"I accompanied the bishop," she sighed. "Will, not surprisingly, didn't take it well."

"You told him James and I married, didn't you?" Beth asked as she climbed from the bed. She had pulled on her shift when James put on his shirt and breeches before opening the door to his sister-in-law.

Jorie's face went grim. "No. We've decided to let them think the ceremony Bishop Géroux is now negotiating is the one that binds you."

"Perhaps he will accept it once that is done," Beth said, though it was easy to hear her doubt.

James knew it wouldn't matter. Will had, even as a child, not been one to willingly share his toys, and he suspected his former friend equated Beth with those childhood toys, saw her as a possession that was solely his, one he'd break before he let another enjoy it. "I doubt that."

The two sisters turned to look at him. It was easy to see Jorie shared his opinion, but it was painful to see the hope on Beth's face that he would be proven wrong.

He decided not to burst that hope yet. "What is the bishop arranging?"

"Maldon spoke to his commanding officer this morning," she said. "He believes he can arrange a license for you and permission for His Excellency to perform the marriage."

James frowned, and then he remembered that General George Washington was a Virginian. He had once heard his father denigrate the man's battlefield performance during what was often called the French and Indian War, but the man had clearly learned his business since then if he had managed to defeat Lord General Cornwallis so soundly.

He asked, "And if he cannot?"

Jorie sighed. "Then we've found a chaplain in Washington's army who is also a Virginian and willing to marry you."

From James's point of view, they might as well send for the chaplain and get the deed done. He found he was anxious to have the second ceremony finished before he had to confront Will—because he was certain Will would confront him.

His sister-in-law, though, raised her brows, rocked on her toes a moment, which struck James as odd since he'd never really seen her betray what looked like discomfort or possibly nerves. "You two eat and get dressed. James has a ring to buy, and I'm to stay with you, Anna, until it's time to marry the two of you again." She turned her attention to him. "Maldon's general recommended a local goldsmith, though you'll have to do a bit of travelling to reach it. The sooner you get started, the sooner we can finish this."

"I'll not stay here without James," Beth said.

They both turned to look at her, and it wasn't hard for James to see she was going to be stubborn on this point. She gave her sister a smug look. "He'll need me to choose one that fits."

Jorie snorted. She pulled the ring Will had given Beth from a pocket. "I think this will insure he finds one."

"Then you go with him," Beth insisted.

It finally occurred to James that she was worried on his behalf rather than her own as the two sisters bickered. He was far more concerned that Will would come after her than he was about his own safety. He'd be armed, and he knew he could defeat the man. Beth, on the other hand, would likely be entirely at her former husband's mercy. After all, James was certain Will would not come for her alone. "Jorie stays with you," James said firmly. "I'll be fine. You're the one who needs protection."

The second he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake. Beth was suddenly furious, though he wasn't certain why.

"I will not let Will kill you," she bit out.

"He's more apt to come after you," he countered. "You're not likely to harm him."

And that had been a definite mistake, he realized as her gaze heated and color ran up her skin. Her eyes narrowed, and he had the impression she was trying to decide how best to disassemble his carcass. "While that may be true," she said with a quiet menace that let him see the Princess quite clearly, "you are the one who stole his dolly. He will wish to make you pay, and he will not do so in a direct confrontation. As he has already proven, it will be an ambush so that he will not be accused."

There was a moment where he nearly asked her to explain, but then he realized that somehow she believed Will had been the one who had lain in wait for him in the woods at Guilford Courthouse. While James felt certain it had been Will, he had no proof. Whoever that had been, had very nearly succeeded in killing him, it was true, but he would not let it happen again. James told her, "He claims he wants you back. He's more likely to take advantage of my absence to try and achieve that—if he doesn't simply kill you to prevent my having you."

"Enough!" Jorie sliced in.

She turned to her sister, who still bristled, practically shook with anger. "James will not go alone. After all, neither of us has been granted parole, so we aren't exactly free to come and go as we please. Maldon and some of his men will accompany him. You and I will remain behind and get you ready for your public wedding."

Beth opened her mouth to argue, but her sister got in first: "You will not win this argument, Anna, so you might as well give way. As we speak, a seamstress and a maid are preparing to make sure you have something presentable to wear and that you are properly groomed." She threw up a hand as Beth started to hotly dispute her need for help. "For once in your life, enjoy being a girl. Not all of us get the chance."

That shut Beth up, James noticed, and he wondered if Jorie resented the life he had assumed she had chosen. Her face was implacable as she stared her sister down, and he watched the fight go out of Beth.

"Alright."

Jorie nodded, then added, "Eat. I'll be back in half an hour."

As he watched Beth pick at her food, he said, "If it helps, I would rather have you with me." It was true. He worried that even Jorie would not be enough since he suspected Will would bring enough men to overpower whatever guardians he thought he might find with Beth—and James was certain Will knew enough to know that James wouldn't leave her alone. For that matter, he might expect to find only the two of them, James and Beth, but he would still come with enough bullies he wouldn't necessarily have to dirty his own hands and could guarantee James would not get the upper hand.

She set a half-eaten biscuit down. "I cannot bear for him to kill you, James—or have you killed."

"Your presence would be unlikely to prevent that," he pointed out.

Her shoulders dropped, and she gazed at her plate. "While true, it doesn't change how I feel."

James set his own plate aside, took hers and set it with his before he gathered her to him. "I refuse to die," he told her despite the fact that he knew he might not be able to prevent that. "I've waited far too long to have you as my wife, Beth, to let anything, including Will Cameron, stop me from enjoying the privilege."

"Do be careful," she whispered, and he heard the edge of tears in that.

That, he knew, he could safely promise, so he did so. He kissed her, was gratified by the way her arms wound around his neck and clung. "Eat," he ordered, "and then let your sister fuss over you while your cousin drags me off to find a wedding ring befitting a princess."

-X-

They found a ring at the goldsmith's who had been recommended to them. James had tied a piece of twine around Beth's finger to know what size. He hadn't wanted to take the ring Will had given Beth at their wedding. When he produced the twine, Prince Maldon had frowned, asked what that was. When James explained, the man snorted, informed him that Beth's first wedding ring had come from the royal treasury. That gave James something to chew on as they returned to Yorktown.

He was taken to the prince's quarters. The bishop sat reading a newspaper and merely looked up when they entered. James asked the prince for paper, ink, and a pen, and he sat down to write his mother and Katy, something he had not yet found the time to do since the surrender.

After he penned greetings and told her of the surrender, James found that the rest of what he must write his mother was more difficult to explain than he had expected, mainly, he realized, because he remained a little uncertain how she would greet the daughter-in-law he would present her when he arrived home. He knew she was unhappy about his relationship with Beth, but he also knew she liked the princess. Their marriage, though, was unlikely to be accepted or recognized by her friends, and that might change her opinion. James liked to believe his mother would choose his happiness over the slights they were likely to receive, but he wasn't absolutely certain that was so. He thought about her long friendship with Helen Cameron and how his affair with Beth had ended that.

Ultimately, he found himself penning words that begged her forgiveness for his transgressions, explained that he knew his marriage was unlikely to find favor among their friends, and expressed his hope that at least she would be happy for him since he was unquestionably in love with his wife. After a moment's thought, he continued, told her that her own marriage to his father had been such a happy one that he had wanted that for himself, and though he knew she could not condone how it had occurred, he hoped she would look past how it began and accept what was.

Katy's letter was infinitely easier. He simply told her the events that had transpired since he had last written and that he had married Beth. His sister, he knew, liked his wife, and Katy would be nothing but happy for them. Her last letter had been filled with Toby Henderson, who had taken up the law and now worked with James's own attorney. She had written him that Toby intended to ask for her hand as soon as James was home. James wrote that he would grant permission for her to marry him, and he would. He was hardly in a position to reject the man's suit given his own circumstances, and it appeared the boy had delivered on his promises.

Once the letters had been sent on their way, James tried to fill his time reading, but he couldn't remain focused on the book he'd chosen, mainly because he'd far rather be reading his wife's body. This, after all, was likely the closest they would come to a honeymoon, so he resented being separated from her for even a few hours. He wondered what Jorie and her women might be doing to Beth, and he couldn't bite back a smile at what he'd be doing were he with her instead.

"I'm not sure I like that expression, Captain," he heard the prince say.

He shot a look at Beth's cousin, but he held his counsel. It was one thing to needle Jorie; it was quite another to do so to this man.

The prince lifted his brows, then snorted, shook his head. "At least you appear to know what to do with my cousin."

James grinned at that. He undoubtedly did.

"It's time to get you ready and get you married again," the man sighed, and for the first time James noticed the bishop had vanished. "There's a chapel in town that escaped damage," he continued. "You'll do the deed there. Jorie sent clean clothes for you. They're in the bedroom. There's a bath as well, but don't linger. We don't have that much time."

Prince Maldon paused, frowned. "Is there someone who can act as your witness, or shall we provide someone?"

James considered his question. "Unless Jorie is suddenly going to appear as Ghislaine," he finally said, "I'd like her to do the honors." If she'd truly been a man, he wouldn't have hesitated. James considered her a friend, and if she intended to wear her uniform, he'd be happy to have her by his side while he married Beth again.

The prince grinned. "She'll be pleased you want her. I'll give Anna-Elizabeth away, and I'll stand as my cousin's witness."

It struck James as odd that he was nervous as they waited for Beth and her sister to arrive at the small church. He was alone with the bishop in a small room off the nave at the front of the building. The man was donning his vestments and the other accoutrements of the office while James prowled the room impatiently. "She does love you," the bishop said.

At the absent note, James turned to frown at the man.

The bishop's blue eyes met his. "She wrote me about you, you know."

James didn't.

"We've exchanged news since she arrived in America," he added. "At first it was about how much she missed home, about how she missed her studies, and then it was about you and concerns that she might have jeopardized her immortal soul."

There must have been something stricken in his expression because the man gave him a reassuring smile before telling James, "Given Her Highness had not consummated her marriage, I think God will understand."

"He beat her," James blurted, and then nearly corrected that so the bishop did not think he accused the deity.

"And you and your family offered her a safe haven." The man adjusted his chasuble and then met James's eyes once more. "I think that despite having anticipated your vows and despite the fact that Anna-Elizabeth was another man's wife at the time, God will more than overlook your own transgression. Unfortunately, given what the Princess has told me, I'm not sure the same can be said for your fellow colonists."

James sincerely hoped the man was wrong, but he said nothing.

When he finally stood before the altar and waited for the prince to walk her down the aisle, he saw that in addition to several of the Green Dragoons, there were a few of his neighbors in attendance after all. The realization disturbed rather than comforted, for Dan Scott and Benjamin Martin were among them. He recognized other faces as well, and he couldn't help but wonder if they were there in support of Will. He sincerely hoped there would not be a confrontation, not in the church, at least, and not until the bishop and the chaplain completed the ceremony.

As Beth and the prince headed toward him, though, James forgot about their uninvited guests. When her cousin gave her to him, he took Beth's hand in his and smiled at her. They had already done this once, so he looked forward to having it over with.

It appeared the bishop was simply there to support the pastor in whose church the ceremony was being held, as it was that pastor who began the ceremony. When the pastor asked if there was any reason they might not be married, James was impatient, especially since as far as he was concerned, there clearly were none.

Then Will Cameron's voice came loudly from the back: "I do. She's my wife. It's bad enough she and James have cuckolded me, but this is not only illegal but bigamous."


	32. Chapter 32

This is a good chapter for a couple of warnings: language and violence being the primary ones.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 32**

Beth's hand trembled in James's. She paled, looked faint.

"She is not your wife, Mr. Cameron," Jorie snapped out. "As His Excellency and I explained last night, Anna-Elizabeth has been granted a divorce by your parliament."

Will strolled closer, his eyes locked on James. "I have no parliament, and given the English king, whether he realizes it or not, has just lost his war, neither he nor they have any authority here."

The flat statement was all the more disturbing for the thoroughly calm, amiable voice with which it was said, especially when paired with the absolute fury in Will's blue eyes.

Unlike that long-ago day when the Assembly voted the levy, James refrained from pointing out that England still ruled—loss of the southern colonies or not. There was no evidence they were truly lost, and it would take a while to establish the terms of peace, presuming England sued for such. He didn't hold out hope the rebels would take their win, demand home rule, and remain part of England, but it at least remained an outside possibility.

"Anna-Elizabeth," the Crown Prince said quietly and reached a hand toward her. James tightened his grip on her waist and the hand still in his. Beth's cousin lifted his eyes to James's. "I think this is a discussion best held without Her Highness as a witness," Maldon told him quietly.

While what the man said made sense, James didn't loosen his hold on her. It was truly likely the conversation would be ugly and possibly violent, but he didn't want to risk her if Will found a way to best him. He eyed the men present, the militiamen with whom Will had served and the Dragoons with whom James and Jorie had served. He wasn't sure how much help he could rely on from any quarter save Jorie, and he couldn't guarantee Beth's safety if he let her leave with her cousin. It was always possible Will had someone waiting for just that, someone who would take Beth, spirit her away where James might not be able to find or reclaim her.

"I believe my wife should remain." Again, Will's voice was almost preternaturally calm, and James felt Beth tremble. It occurred to him that he thought a raised voice indicated a greater threat, and he puzzled over the nature of her relationship with her former husband. He remembered what she'd said to him the night before about believing she'd married one man only to have found herself married to another, and it finally occurred to James that that described his friendship with Will as well. The last couple of years had revealed facets of his former friend James would never have believed were there.

Contrarily, James suddenly wanted to let her leave with her cousin for her own protection.

"She is not your wife," James reminded him. He couldn't say his own voice was calm, knew the deep anger he couldn't quite bury snapped in his voice, but he at least managed to stop short of admitting he had already married Beth. He didn't dare look at her, kept his eyes on Will since he was absolutely convinced the other man would strike should he look away.

"Well, she's not yours, James—and she never will be."

That last was said with a kind of gleeful amusement that chilled James, especially since Beth went from trembling to actually shaking. Once more he considered their uninvited wedding guests. James couldn't help wondering if Will had littered the church with those intent on seeing James paid for whatever sins his former friend had convinced them he had committed.

"Gentlemen," the bishop said quietly, "I believe you should discuss this elsewhere."

Looking at him, there was no doubt Bishop Géroux believed as James did that this held the potential for violence. James decided once this was over to ask Jorie what had happened when she and the bishop had confronted Will the night before.

Will, though, was obviously unwilling to adjourn somewhere more private, so James kept his eyes locked on his former friend. He had hoped Will would pick this fight in a less public venue, one in which he would be able to finally take some satisfaction in meting out punishment for what the man had done to Beth. Will, he knew, had to try and salvage his reputation, so James doubted he intended to back down, was certain he would not do the decent thing and let Beth go. Instead, he was clearly going to spill poison, taint what should be a joyful occasion, and then take no prisoners.

What James wanted to know was how many lies would pepper the slanted truths he would use to do so.

"You were my friend," he told James, his tone still conversational, "my best friend, and now you've stolen my wife."

"She's no longer your wife," James said quietly, careful to keep his voice dispassionate this time. He didn't want to set Will off, didn't want to have to commit a sacrilege or any blasphemy in a church and add to his own sins. "You abused her, neglected her," James added, still keeping his voice in a quiet, reasonable tone, "but now she is free from you." For all that he tempered his voice, there was still a hint of menace in his tone as he finished, one Will should have recognized. If Will was intent on this, James didn't plan to make it easy for him.

For whatever reason, his words made Will drop the polite façade. "I'm her husband, James. She's my wife. How I treat her is none of your business," he ground out.

Before he could say more, Prince Maldon said with quiet threat, "On the contrary." Jorie stepped next to her cousin, the two of them creating a formidable defensive line, hands on sabres. "As she is no longer your wife, and as a representative of her family, let me assure you we intend to see her happily married to a man who will do his duty by her and whom we know will not harm her."

Watching Will, James wondered if his former friend heard the same warning James did in the prince's voice. James suspected Beth's family would take pleasure in revealing their former in-law's sins, and a part of him preferred they do it rather than for him to be forced to do so. After all, he and Beth would go back to South Carolina, live among many of those present who had survived and would return as well, and he'd rather burn fewer bridges—or given Pembroke, burn anything. If Will pushed too hard, though, this time he wouldn't hesitate to throw the torch.

Will remained focused on James, who was curious to see just how far the other man would go to have his revenge. "I should call you o—"

There was a fast hiss of steel, and the flat of Maldon's sabre was suddenly slapped across Will's chest, stopped his words. "Do not finish that statement." He looked a warning at James. "Captain Wilkins surrendered his weapons when the Lord General Cornwallis surrendered his army, but if you challenge him, I will personally arm him and act as his second. I assure you that you do not wish that to happen."

James could see Will's hesitation. His old friend had never really been willing to risk his own life, was quick to put blame and responsibility on others, so he doubted Will was any more willing to risk death over a wife he didn't really want. It was posturing, and Will should be glad Beth's cousin had stopped him from carrying through on a challenge James would have gladly accepted. After all Will had made Beth suffer, had battered and bruised her, broken her bones. Given the way she shook where he held her against him, James would be more than happy to end him.

"You cannot have her."

"You do not want her," he shot back, and he gave the man a warning look that tried to silently tell him to leave it there. Deep down, though, he knew Will wouldn't, and he sincerely hoped he was right. Thinking of what Will had done to Beth made the rage course through him, and that simply made him want to cause Will to suffer as she had. He wanted to beat him, bruise him, break his bones. Beyond that, it was time to finish this so that he and Beth could get on with their lives with no further interference from Will or the remaining Camerons.

Will blanched a moment. James suspected his face betrayed his thoughts, but if it didn't, he hoped it at least betrayed that he wouldn't hesitate to reveal the reason the other man hadn't touched his wife. Apparently, Will read intent in his look. Nonetheless, the other man disregarded caution: "She is mine by right."

Beth tensed in James's arms. His grip shifted, tightened on her, and her own arms crept around his waist as she leaned more fully into him. He felt her bury her face in his chest and knew he would never let Will have her back.

"She's a woman, Will, a human being, not a thing" he said, and that thought reminded him of Beth telling him he'd taken Will's dolly away. "You just fought on the side that purportedly thinks we're all free and endowed with the rights to, among other things, the pursuit of happiness. You've done nothing but cause her misery since marrying her. She's now free of you, and you should be man enough to step aside."

He hadn't counted on Will's inherent selfishness overriding sense. He should have realized Will would do whatever it took to hide his own culpability and to inflict wounds while he did so. "As you point out, James, she's but a woman. As her husband, I have the right to choose for her."

This time, Jorie stepped in. "You are no longer her husband," she reminded him with a firm menace of her own. "You were given the documents that dissolved your marriage to Anna-Elizabeth last night. If you persist in this, then you will only expose secrets of your own that bear far greater penalties than I suspect you are willing to pay."

Will actually laughed, and James wondered if the man was drunk or simply unhinged. Since the other man didn't stumble, sway, or slur his words, James settled on the latter.

"Do you mean these?" he sneered and pulled his copy of the divorce act from inside his coat. He flung them at the floor in front of James and Beth. Beth flinched closer to James when he did so. "Paper. There's no way of knowing if those are even real."

"I assure you they are quite real," Prince Maldon bit out, "and since you did not consummate the marriage, Anna-Elizabeth was well within her rights to request the annulment your king wished to grant rather than the divorce your parliament gave her."

James could tell that shocked most of the men watching them, none more so than Benjamin Martin. James had had no quarrel with Martin before the war, had never considered Martin a fool, and as he met the other man's gaze, James saw when the truth dawned on his former neighbor. He nodded once to James and said, "I think, Will, this might be one of those times when it is best to yield."

Will shook off Martin's hand. "She's _mine_!"

"Let her go," the Frenchman who had fought with them said quietly. "Anna-Elizabeth has had very little happiness in her life, Monsieur Cameron. If you care for her at all, let her go."

Will rounded on the Frenchman. "Stay out of this! It is none of your concern."

For James, that simply confirmed Will's contempt for them all, Beth especially.

"On the contrary," the man said flatly. He looked at Beth, arched a brow and tipped his head forward slightly. James felt her nod once. "I am an old acquaintance of Anna-Elizabeth's family. I have seen you, seen your behavior. I could tell all that I have seen, but I think it will suffice to note only that you have not been a faithful husband to Her Highness." The man contemptuously observed Will for a moment. "As you know, I do not shy from delivering justice as I see fit."

The Dragoons had heard how the Frenchman had relentlessly slaughtered English soldiers, even when they had surrendered. Will was a fool if he ignored the man's open threat, but James had a feeling Will would prove he was exactly that kind of fool.

"She's a whore, just as her mother is, just as her sister is," Will snapped viciously. He looked James smugly in the eye.

For a moment, James tried to decide if Will truly thought he'd let such a slur pass. James eased Beth away from him, handed her to Jorie, who bristled with the insult Will had just delivered. Jorie, of course, could hardly defend herself when even Will didn't know she was Beth's sister, the very one he referenced in his taunt. Beth clutched at his arm, but he gently removed her hand from him.

Will wasn't finished. "She's probably spread her legs for every handsome man she's met."

It felt good when James' fist connected with Will's face. His hand would throb for hours, probably, but James was satisfied that Will went down and went down hard. He ignored the sharp complaint from the priest whose church it was, just as he ignored the bishop's soothing murmur as he tried to placate the man. Will lay sprawled on the floor at James's feet. He didn't say a word, simply stood glaring at his former friend, his hands fisted and body tensed as he hoped Will decided to challenge him after all.

Maldon stepped next to James. The prince looked down at Will, who wiped his bloody nose, and snarled, "My cousin is no longer friendless or without her family. Anna-Elizabeth has always behaved beyond reproach—"

"She whored herself with him," Will flung, sent a hard look at James.

"Whored?" There was sharp steel in Maldon's voice. "From what I have been told, you ignored and abused her. One can hardly blame her for choosing a man who did neither. She has been completely faithful to your friend."

"He is not my friend," Will ground out.

James refrained from agreeing, a part of him more worried that they were openly hinting at Beth's infidelity. He supposed he had always known it would become public, but he had hoped, for her sake at least, that it would not be so. He kept his eyes on Will because he remained certain the man was poised to strike and strike viciously.

"As for what she has told you," Will derided as he sat up and swiped more blood, "your precious Anna-Elizabeth is a liar of the first water, a woman who cannot separate fact from fantasy. To take her word for what she claims I did to her would be foolish."

Without thinking, James shot right back, "I saw first-hand what you did to her."

Will's smile was triumphant. "In order to have done so, you have to admit my claim, James," he said happily, shot his brows up. "You bedded my wife."

"Since you never bedded her yourself," James contested hotly, "she wasn't legally your wife." He immediately regretted the impulse he had failed to control, the impulse that drove him to strike back and, thus, publicly confirm he and Beth had committed adultery. Will's face plainly showed he had achieved at least part of his goal.

Standing, Will looked around. "You see? He admits it."

"As do you," Maldon said silkily. "If you know there was evidence of your abuse that the Captain might have seen, then you must have done as alleged."

Will faltered, but it didn't take long for him to recover. His expression hardened as he took the measure of his rapt audience, including the ones who were clearly changing their allegiance. "All it proves is that James was in a position to see that my wife required chastisement for her perfidity."

"No woman, no matter how duplicitous, requires the kind of beatings to which you subjected Beth," James bit out, figured if they were revealing secrets, they might as well air them all. After all, his reputation was already tarnished, thanks to Will, and he wasn't going to let the man or any of the others go home with the impression Will and the Camerons were virtuous victims of James and Beth. "Not only that, but you and your family tried to murder her because your father left her a prime piece of land."

Will's eyes were slits as he adjusted his cuffs. "I was not there, and if someone in my family attempted to kill Anna-Elizabeth, then it was certainly not I. I would also remind you that you returned that land to me after you let Ramsdell there talk your way out of a duel."

"As I recall," Jorie replied coldly, "you're the one who had Michael Henderson talk _your _way out of the duel. I merely accepted his terms."

That wasn't exactly the truth, but James decided this time to remain silent, especially since Will turned his attention to Beth's sister. This was, after all, where things could spiral even more out of control. He was well-aware than if Jorie raised the issue of just what Will's relationship with Michael Henderson had been, then, James knew, the other man would lay waste, burn through any caution to cause maximum damage in return. He'd have no choice, James knew, if he wanted to save any shred of his reputation, James would be forced to behave in kind.

Part of him welcomed the idea, but part of him wished to get out of this with minimal damage to Beth, at least.

"Tell me," Will drawled with a repressed fury, "do you whore as well?"

This time, Jorie punched him. She didn't hit him hard enough to knock him down, but crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I'll thank you not repeat that accusation about anyone else in my family," she snapped. "After all, your sister Honoria, unlike my own, certainly fits the definition."

While he enjoyed the snickers a few of the men ranged behind Will indulged, James considered praying for divine intervention, primarily because he worried about Beth. Looking at her, he could tell she was terrified. Her face was white, and she looked like she would either be ill or faint. Unfortunately, he knew God was unlikely to interfere in this. None of them were especially innocent, so he doubted the deity would spare the less guilty in this case, particularly since their transgressions were now compounded by inappropriate behavior in a house of God.

James thought of his mother's likely reaction if she were to learn of this, particularly since she had taken offense at his brawling with Will in a public street. Temperance Wilkins would be far more appalled by his brawling in a church.

"Enough!" the bishop snapped. "Since you have chosen to behave as unruly children rather than gentlemen, I suggest you settle your differences elsewhere." He turned to Beth then and said, more gently, "Your Highness, if I may escort you back to your quarters?"

That, of course, set Will off once more. "Anna-Elizabeth will not leave with you!" he snarled. "She is my wife, and she will only leave with me."

"She is not your wife!" James reminded him hotly before he made the one error he should have avoided: "She's mine."

Will rounded on him and swung. James, mindful of the bishop's admonition, evaded the punch and took no retaliation. "You haven't married her yet!"

This time he was wise enough to hold his tongue.

"Outside," Prince Maldon ordered. He caught James's arm, though, held him back while Will's comrades turned him and got him out of the sanctuary.

"I am sorry for my behavior," James told the church's priest.

The man looked weary. "Was any of what he said true?"

James opened his mouth to reply, but Jorie got there first. "It is true that my sister's former husband beat her. It is true that his family endangered her and intended to let her die. It is also true that she and James anticipated their wedding, but the rest is false." She sighed. "If it is the accusation that she is still married which concerns you, then you are welcome to read the evidence yourself." She handed over the papers Will had flung, and then she escorted Beth to a pew nearby.

The prince leaned toward James and said softly, "You are going to have to challenge him, and you are going to have to win."

James watched Beth thoughtfully. He had finally reached the place he had hoped to somehow avoid. "As you said, I surrendered my weapons."

The Crown Prince's sharp smile made James glad Maldon was not the man he was going to have to go outside and face. "I believe I may help you with that."

Outside, Will and a growing number of spectators had ranged themselves around the green opposite the church. James held back the instinctive sigh and determined to get this over with. It didn't stop him from saying to his companion, "I thought your General Washington discouraged dueling among his officers."

He caught the flash of the prince's smile. "I'm not the one who'll be doing the dueling, and Mr. Cameron is not an officer." The prince snorted. "I hear your General Cornwallis feels the same."

Since James was an officer, he had no defense, and he made none. He was finished with the English army, so he didn't much care how he managed to leave it, though he had hoped to do it without disgrace or punishment.

Predictably, Will made his choice easier for him. "I feel certain we could find you some flint and steel if you'd like to burn the church."

James didn't even think, simply swung and knocked Will and his arrogant smirk to the ground. It was a damned shame he didn't knock the man unconscious. "We both know who set fire to the church at Pembroke, Will," he bit out, "and it was not me."

Ignoring the murmurs around them, James kept his eyes on Will and tried to calm enough to make the challenge. As it turned out, he didn't need to. When Dan Scott and the Negro with him helped Will to his feet, Will wobbled a second and then reached in his coat, pulled a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood oozing from his re-opened lip. He glared at James and said, "Choose a second, and choose your weapons, James."

He had to bite back the smile. Will was not as tall as he and had shorter arms. Unless the militia had trained him to use a blade, he would be at a distinct disadvantage. If James were wise, he'd choose sabres, which would let him easily dispatch Will.

James really hated that his inherent sense of fairness kicked in.

"Pistols." He turned to Beth's cousin. "Are you still willing to stand as my second?"

The man nodded. "I'll supply the weapons," he said, and he stepped over to a young man in a Continental uniform, said something, and then returned to stand beside James while the soldier scurried away. "It will take a few moments," he said, his voice apologetic. "Perhaps, Mr. Cameron, since one of you is presumably about to die, you might explain your comment about burning a church."

There was a calm menace on the prince's face as he stared Will down. James admired it and the control the prince exercised, especially since James just wanted to smash Will's face in.

Will snorted. "There was a village near our homes. I say was," Will added, "because while the homes are presumably still there, neither the people nor the church are." He waved a hand at James and at the Dragoons who had come to watch. "Their colonel ordered the town burned, and when he had the townspeople rounded up and locked in the church, he ordered James here to burn the church instead. To his credit, James balked, but then he carried through."

About to furiously denounce that, James managed to step back, hold in the outburst he wished to make: that it was a damn lie. Not only that, but he finally had the answer to something he'd long puzzled over. Will had to have been there to know he'd hesitated and then almost did as ordered.

The prince looked at him, lifted a dark brow that clearly asked for an explanation. "All but the last of that is a lie," James said with all the calm he could muster. "It's true Colonel Tavington ordered Pembroke burned. We were told to gather the villagers in the church, and we did so. He addressed them." He looked at Benjamin Martin then. Instinct told him Martin was the one he most needed to convince that what he was about to say was true. "Once he'd done that, he had them locked inside and ordered the church burned rather than the town." He paused, gathered his thoughts. "The Colonel ordered me to burn the church in order to prove I meant what I said about supporting the Crown."

Martin's gaze was curious, but James wasn't about to indulge that curiosity here. He knew the man's daughter-in-law had died inside, knew the man's son had died from impetuously seeking revenge for that.

"I argued, but it was clear I would have to follow through or join them. Your cousin stopped me from throwing that torch, and then told the Colonel that by proving willing to do it, I had shown my loyalty. We rode out of Pembroke with the church intact and those inside alive. According to Jorie, Will was the one who burned the church and accused me." He breathed in slowly, deeply, released the breath. "I do not know for sure if Will is guilty of that, but I do know that I am not." He gestured toward the Dragoons around him. "They can vouch for me, though I understand if you don't find them credible witnesses."

For a long, measured moment, Martin's anguished blue eyes studied his. "I'm inclined to believe you."

Predictably, Will exploded. "He's a murderous bastard, and you're willing to take his word for it that he's not? Your daughter-in-law and her parents died in that fire!"

"You know, Will," Martin said with a deadly kind of calm, "You never hesitated to lay the blame at James's feet, vowed he was the one. In order to know that, you had to be there, yet you never claimed that when you reported it. You simply said you'd been told the English burned the church will all the citizens inside and that James Wilkins threw the first torch."

Will obviously floundered a second. James wondered what he would say, what explanation he'd offer to save himself.

"It is also quite telling," the Frenchman said, his voice silky, "that Captain Wilkins does admit room for doubt about your own guilt while you grant him none of the same consideration."

If there was to be a ray of hope in this, James was willing to take the possibility that the men around him would at least doubt the story Will had told of Pembroke. He knew better than to expect them to believe he wasn't guilty, doubted Martin truly thought him innocent. If there was any question about his guilt, then James might be more likely to settle quietly into Oak Point with Beth.

Will, though, simply ignored a lost cause, regrouped, then threw his attack at the original line of battle. "That does not change the fact that he bedded my wife, took her from me, and he must pay for that if nothing else."

Eyeing him, James wondered if he could take that literally, could offer a sum high enough to get Will to drop his allegation and his protests and simply let them be. He knew, though, that the other man would be back for more when he had run through whatever money changed hands, and he further knew that Will would continue to tell all who would listen what James and Beth had done. He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and wondered if the man was angling still for Oak Point. That, James would never allow a Cameron to touch.

The soldier the Crown Prince had sent off returned with what pretty much any gentleman would recognize as a set of dueling pistols. He was trailed by a number of other men, and James was dismayed to realize there would be even more witnesses to this, more who could spread whatever accusations were made before one of them killed the other.

To James's grim amusement, Will had a little difficulty finding a second. Many of the men around them suddenly seemed disinterested in supporting the man's cause. Finally, one of the blue coats sighed and reluctantly agreed to act as Will's second. That soldier and Prince Maldon set about choosing, checking and then loading the pistols. As they did so, they negotiated the terms of engagement. Duels were supposed to be about gaining satisfaction, redeeming one's honor by showing a willingness to defend that honor through agreeing to fight to the death. It appeared that in this instance, the duel would actually occur. James was fine with that, knew it was inevitable. This time it was to death, not first blood, and James steeled himself for the possibility it might be his death.

He had made his will the last time he was in Charles Town, and though he would have preferred to make a few codicils given he had married Beth the night before, it was in order. In a low voice, Prince Maldon ran through the agreements: ten paces, James, by right, could fire first, then Will. If neither hit nor killed the other, they would reload and do so again until one succeeded in killing the other. A dry-fire was prohibited.

James sighed. He had hoped to avoid having to be the one to kill Will, but he knew he now must. He nodded. He checked the pistol he was handed, and then he looked up to find Will, not certain the man wouldn't cheat. What he saw in the suddenly cleared green was Benjamin Martin and the Frenchman holding sabres and pacing away from one another.

"I do not trust Will Cameron," Prince Maldon said dryly when James looked over at him. "They will step off the distance and mark it with the sabres. You and Will will start there."

Points, as that was sometimes called, meant that he and Will could close in on one another after the first shots. He nearly asked why they hadn't asked for fewer steps given the gravity of Will's insult, especially since it primarily sullied Beth, but he held his counsel, nodded, and moved toward the approaching Frenchman.

"He's shit with a pistol," the man said softly as he drove the point home, watched it quiver a moment, "worse with a sabre." He shrugged. "_Bon chance_."

Martin was clearly going to serve as the mediator. He looked first at Will, then at James. James locked his eyes on Will. "Ready, gentlemen?"

James nodded, so did Will. Martin dropped a handkerchief and stepped back. James leveled his pistol, breathed in as he sighted down his arm and wished he could end it with the first shot. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he fired.

He hit Will, but it was not a killing blow. James noted it had gone left of the middle of Will's chest. If he got a second chance, he'd correct for that.

Turning to fully face Will, he stood a little taller, breathed in and said a quick prayer that Beth's cousin and sister would protect her should Will get lucky.

Something in Will's face had James blinking in confusion. He watched as Will swung his arm wide and fired. James's eyes shot to his left and saw Jorie holding a white-faced Beth, her hand pressed tightly to her sister's shoulder. A rattled Bishop Géroux stared horrified at the two sisters. James didn't even think, he ran straight at Will.

Someone tackled him, and he started to kick out, furious to have been impeded. James froze, realized it was Prince Maldon who had tackled him. "Easy, Captain," he snapped. "Your part is over. Will Cameron just forfeited his life!"

The man got to his feet and stalked toward Will, who smugly crossed his arms. James followed. He should go to Beth, but he intended to see this business finished.

He was taller, longer-legged than Beth's cousin, but the man still outpaced James. When he reached Will, before the other man could say a word, Maldon had the sabre next to Will out of the ground, and then Will's head rolled.


	33. Chapter 33

This is the next to the last chapter. Thanks to all who've read and reviewed.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 33**

James thought for a moment he'd be sick for the first time since he had joined the army. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen men lose their heads before. It had happened a few times in battle, but it was different this time because it was Will rather than a stranger and because James strangely regretted that it had come to this, despite the fact the man more than deserved the execution Beth's cousin delivered.

He didn't think he would ever understand how Will had gone so wrong in his life while James, who had been raised much the same way as the other man, had turned out so very differently. He couldn't account for the difference, regretted, too, that their once fast friendship had long ago ended because Will had turned his back on all they had been raised to hold dear.

When he got his equilibrium back, metaphorically speaking, then he would turn his thoughts to that conundrum and to the fact that he, too, had gone against the way he was raised when he began his affair with Beth.

Perhaps they had not been so very far apart after all.

He stared at the headless body for a brief moment, ignored the severed head, then turned to rush to where Jorie had eased Beth to the ground. Another man in a Continental uniform knelt next to them, tried to get Jorie to move her hand, but the woman glared at the soldier. As James stopped beside them, he heard her hiss, "Not until you clean your damned hands!"

Shooting a look at the offending hands, James noted they didn't look like they had been washed in several days—if ever.

Beth's eyes were agonized when they met his as he crouched next to her. "How did you bear it?" she asked breathlessly.

He smiled. "It helped that I was unaware until most of the pain was gone." He reached for her. "Let's get you somewhere a doctor with clean hands can take care of that."

Inside, he quaked, panicked, but he refused to let her see that, refused to let her know he feared for her or how dangerous her situation could be. Many people succumbed to blood poisoning after being shot, and James sincerely hoped that would not be the case here. From where Jorie's hand was clamped on Beth's shoulder, it was unlikely a fatal wound, but there was always the risk of infection or of her bleeding more than her body could survive.

James lifted her easily. Beth had never been more than a wisp of a thing, after all, but he moved slowly so Jorie wouldn't have to remove her hand from where it applied pressure to the wound. It made walking awkward, moving with his arms full of woman and having to step carefully so that Jorie didn't have to relax pressure on Beth's shoulder.

As he moved toward the church where Bishop Géroux directed them, he wondered what Jorie had been thinking when she allowed Beth to leave the church in the first place. Given there had been a chance that Will might have prevailed—fair or foul—she should have kept Beth inside, out of sight, and safe.

Then he realized why she hadn't.

James had spent his life surrounded by stubborn women, from his mother to his housekeeper Bess to Beth herself. Even his sister Katy was an immovable object when she was determined on a particular course of action. He was fairly certain Beth had refused to remain in the church and had insisted on coming outside to watch.

Why she would even wish to was the part that confused him. Surely she hadn't wanted to see one of them die, and while she might not have minded much seeing Will do so, James would not have wanted her to see his own death. He certainly hadn't wanted to see Will die as he had, so he didn't think Beth should have been a witness to such a gruesome event.

"I've seen worse," she told him softly, then hissed a pained breath when he stumbled.

James frowned at her.

"St. Cecilia's," she reminded him, "and the occasional execution of a traitor in my homeland."

Bishop Géroux held the door for them, and once inside, the church's priest motioned them to a small room off the sanctuary that held what was probably the man's office. James lowered Beth onto the sofa. The priest then brought a case forward and moved to the side of the room to spill water in a basin where he washed his hands. James was about to ask the man what he was doing when Bishop Géroux said, "He was a battle surgeon for the English before he left the loyalists to return here to care for his late wife."

Satisfied, James turned his attention back to Beth, who lay palely against the broad, angled arm of the sofa. It was easy to see she felt pain, so he moved behind the sofa and reached down for her hand. She crushed his fingers. He let her retain her grip, said nothing. His eyes searched the room. "Father?" he asked.

Turning as he dried his hands, the man lifted his brows. "Reverend, if you must be formal."

James frowned. He had assumed the man was likely Anglican, and in his parish, they referred to their Church of England minister as a priest, used Father in address. Perhaps that was too Catholic for this man, though.

"I'm a Methodist," he explained.

Well-aware that like South Carolina, the Church of England had, until Virginia's Governor Jefferson and their governing body recently abolished it, held the establishment in Virginia as the official state church, he found himself curious how a dissenter managed a church, albeit a rather small one, when many of his Methodist brethren preached on a circuit, met wherever they were welcome to deliver their message.

"Reverend?" he prompted.

The man took a seat next to where Beth lay and looked up at him. "Vincent. John Vincent."

James nodded.

It was soon apparent Vincent was a good doctor, though James couldn't say he liked watching the man begin removing Beth's bodice. He reminded himself it was necessary, though he would prefer to do it himself rather than allow the other man to perform such an intimate task. The green silk was now stained and bore a ragged tear where Will's pistol ball had entered. The doctor carefully cut her shift around the wound and then looked up at James.

"Make yourself useful, Captain." He pointed a hand at a small table and a decanter of what looked like whiskey. "Fetch that brandy, and give the lady as much as she can drink."

Releasing Beth's hand, James did as asked, though he kept his eyes on the minister and Beth as much as he could. He handed her the large measure of brandy he poured in the glass he had picked up from the table along with the decanter. He noticed Vincent had taken a cloth, wet it, and began using it to loosen the fabric around Beth's wound.

"Fortunately," the man told Beth, "Your shift and your bodice were both silk. That means I'm more likely to get all the fabric and threads out, and you are less likely to suffer an infected wound which might well kill you."

Beth swallowed the brandy and stretched the glass up toward James, who refilled it. He couldn't say he wanted a drunken wife that evening, but he had a feeling that was likely going to be better than one in serious pain.

Vincent gestured for James to hand him the decanter, and when he had done so, the minister looked at Beth, topped off her glass. "I'm going to use some of this to clean your wound out. It's going to burn."

She swallowed the brandy in her glass, nodded at the man, and stiffened in anticipation. Her face went even whiter, tightened, and her jaw clenched, but other than breathing harshly, she made no other sound.

The minister smiled at her, covered the wound with a clean cloth, and then turned to a shallow basin that held some of his instruments. He poured brandy over them as well before he handed the decanter back to James and nodded at Beth's glass. James refilled it, watched as the man used the brandy to clean the instruments with another clean cloth.

"I'll have to dig the ball out. Fortunately for you, madam, your late husband was not a lethal shot, and he was far enough away that the distance insured the ball didn't have enough force when it hit you to go through your shoulder." The man looked at her. "Then again, despite the amount of blood you would have likely lost, it might have been best if it had."

He set the forceps he'd just cleaned on another cloth and nodded at James. "Give the lady another glass, Captain."

Beth drank it then handed James the glass with a soft, "No more."

Jorie took the decanter and glass from him while Beth reached for his hand.

When Vincent uncovered her wound and began to probe it, Beth's hand gripped James's tightly enough he felt his bones grinding together. He knew she hurt worse at the moment than he, so he said nothing. She made a soft whimper at one point, and her fingers occasionally closed convulsively tighter on his hand, but that was the most sound she made while the doctor dug around in her shoulder, finally extracting the ball. Beth relaxed a moment then and looked up at him. It occurred to him he'd seen men bawl like babies when the battle surgeons had done similar to them.

Once more, Vincent cleaned the wound before he cleaned a needle, soaked some thread in the brandy and said, "It isn't ideal, but it'll do the job," and began stitching the wound closed. Beth again grasped James's hand and held it as tightly as she could.

By the time he finished, Beth looked a little fuzzy. The brandy was obviously taking a stronger effect, and she smiled happily as Vincent bandaged her shoulder and helped ease her damaged shift and her bodice back in place. She gave James a pained smile and said, "I'm sorry the wedding was ruined."

"I rather think we can finish that," Reverend Vincent told her wryly.

Beth waved a hand. "I can't get married while I am intoxicated."

"I understand you're already married," he told her.

After a couple of attempts and nearly catching it on her nose, Beth put a finger to her lips and said in a rather loud whisper, "Not supposed to know that."

Her words were slurring. Vincent looked at Bishop Géroux. "I suggest you get this done before she's incapable of saying the necessary words."

As a result, James married her again, this time holding his bride in his arms so that she didn't fall down. At least no one—and several of their guests from the first attempt had returned for the second—objected when asked. He let the Crown Prince hold his cousin upright while James slid the ring on her finger, and Beth smiled like an idiot at it. It was nothing fancy, a plain gold band with ivy engraved around it, so James was relieved she seemed to like it. He hadn't wanted to give her something that bore any resemblance to the one Will had given her, so he had ignored rings with stones, despite a rather pretty one with an emerald he had thought would look lovely on her hand.

Beth managed to sign the register and the license the reverend provided, though given the number of names she had to pen, James considered that nothing short of a miracle. He signed his own, then shook hands with the bishop, with Vincent, and with Beth's cousin while she sat in a chair next to him. He and Jorie shook hands, though for a moment he thought she meant to hug him, and then there were others there to congratulate them. He was touched Martin and those members of his militia in attendance appeared to hold no ill will toward him and that their congratulations appeared sincere.

Vincent held up a small bottle. "If the pain gets too much for her," he said softly, explained the dosage, and handed it to James.

"About Will," James said to the reverend while Beth and her family spoke to one another.

"I'll see the body buried," he said, "though if it needs to be sent home, I can assist with that as well."

Will's greatest sin would bar him from consecrated ground, and if his body were returned to South Carolina, his family would have to find somewhere other than Hart's Crossing to bury him since the property had been sold. He wondered if Helen Cameron could find the money to pay for a burial plot or vault in Charles Town. James fished in a pocket, found the last of the money he had with him, and handed it to the reverend. "For allowing us to use your church, for your surgeon's skills, and for Will's burial."

The man looked at the gold coins, then turned a thoughtful eye on James. "This is more than is necessary."

James sighed. "He was my friend. See to it he is well-buried and his grave marked." James quickly gave him Will's full name, the date and location of his birth, and the names of his parents for the headstone, information the Reverend Vincent jotted down. Then he shook the man's hand again, scooped up his wife, and took her back to Yorktown and his quarters.

-X-

It was a couple of weeks before Beth felt up to travelling. One afternoon they discussed how to return to South Carolina and where—overland directly to Oak Point or by sea to Charles Town and then to his plantation. Beth wanted to go by land. She told him where to find her purse, and James had shot a shocked glance toward her when he realized how much gold she had with her. She waved a hand weakly and told him, "I believe your law says that's yours now."

"I don't want your money," he told her tersely.

Her hand waved again. "Pay me back later then." She gave him a smug little smile. "Buy me gardens."

James ignored that.

He had a horse he'd prefer to keep, so he bought Beth a sound mare with good lines he thought might make good breeding stock since he doubted he'd have any horses left when he got home. He bought a pack horse as well for their baggage. There wasn't much of that since Beth had left most of her things in Charles Town, and he had very little after Cornwallis had ordered the army's baggage burnt months before. There were others returning to South Carolina, from both sides of the conflict, and James thought they'd ride with them, especially since it would be foolish to travel alone with a woman. He spoke to Benjamin Martin about it, who agreed they could travel with them.

James was more than a little surprised the man agreed. Martin must have read that in his face. The other man shrugged. "I've no quarrel with you, James, but I think it only fair to warn you that some of my men might." He studied James a moment, then he shrugged again. "Our part of the war is mostly over. Let's just go home and get on with our lives."

When Martin walked away from him, James stared thoughtfully after him. He wouldn't have thought the man would be that tolerant, but he held out hope, if for no other reason than he could clearly recall Martin's words as they passed the levy in the Assembly that long ago day: _Why should I trade one tyrant three thousand miles away for three thousand tyrants one mile away? _James sincerely hoped others felt the same, hoped they would not become those tyrants of whom Martin had warned, for as the man had noted as he finished his speech that day, it was also true that an elected legislature could, indeed, trample men's rights as easily as a king could.

Jorie, or perhaps it was Maldon, managed to convince someone from the Continental army to provide him a tent for Beth's greater comfort, though James hoped to stay in inns along the way. He also managed to negotiate his release from the army and his parole. The last was helped along by the Crown Prince.

There was much for James to think about on the trip home. He and Beth kept a bit of distance from the others at night but rode amongst them during the day. It wasn't going to be easy to resume his life, he knew. His neighbors were not likely to welcome him back, but he hoped that if he retired to his property, remained there, he could escape notice and would be allowed to live quietly in his own home. He further hoped that they might remember he had been a good neighbor, was generous when others needed assistance, and had always conducted himself as an honorable man.

Except for Beth.

By now, he was relatively certain news had arrived in Charles Town of her divorce, and while there had been nothing in the act that had freed her about their indiscretions, he knew Helen and Honoria Cameron would make sure to spread whatever salacious details they could invent. He knew, too, that those who had been in the church the day Will made his accusations before dying might repeat the admission James had made of adultery, and that might cause more harm than his service to His Majesty.

He would simply have to sort it all out when he was finally home.

Of course, Oak Point had to still be standing.

If it wasn't, he thought, then perhaps he and Beth could live in the cabin on the small farm where they used to meet while he rebuilt his house. Most of his fortune was still intact, so he could afford to rebuild if necessary. Hopefully, he wouldn't arrive to find some rebel squatting in his house. He didn't want to be forced to evict anyone, especially since he was firmly convinced that in order to do so he would have to resort to possibly lethal violence.

He should stop thinking of them as rebels, he reminded himself. They had won, after all. All that was left was for the King to sue for peace and to negotiate the terms.

It would be interesting to see, he told Beth that night as they lay together in their room at an inn near the South Carolina border, what the rebels would make of their independence from England if they did achieve it. He had had plenty of time to think of the possibilities. Thomas Paine had written that they had the chance to make the world over with the revolution, but James suspected they would mostly remake the same one they had begun with. He knew better than to voice that aloud where he might be overheard, though.

That was one of the things that would change for him. He would have to hold his tongue if what he had to say was contrary to the vision of the victors. He suspected they would not tolerate what they had taken to calling a Tory naysaying them. Even if they espoused the idea that men had rights to speak freely, James suspected few, at least in his part of the new republic they wished to build, would be willing to allow him to do so. That was just as well since he had already decided to stay out of politics, to retire to his land and remain there, live a quiet existence.

He also knew that his marriage to a divorced woman, one who had previously been married to a former neighbor who had been on the "right" side of the war, would not win him friends, would likely cost some of the few who probably remained. After all, in the view of many, Beth should have simply separated from Will and lived chastely alone. His friends and neighbors would have accepted that, and as long as she was discreet, they might likely have looked the other way had she taken a lover.

Despite the fact that he had publicly married Beth after Will's death—a fact to which several, including Benjamin Martin and members of his militia, could testify—there still remained the delicate matter of having ignored a proper mourning period. It was also true that Martin's militia could attest that Will's death had interrupted their marriage ceremony, so James doubted the appearance that he had married her after she became a widow would earn them any measure of respectability.

Honestly, James didn't give a damn what his neighbors thought about his marriage. His primary regret was that the salacious details of her marriage to Will were likely to become public since it had taken an act of parliament to free her, and any number of newspapers would delight in publishing the details which had been summarized in that act even though they had not documented the worst of it, especially since she was royal and there was a decidedly anti-monarch sentiment in the colonies.

Then, as he lay there, held her in the darkness, he decided it didn't matter. They could survive the serious faux pas of Beth failing to observe a mourning period for Will. What he wasn't certain they could survive was that they had been about to marry before the man's death, had, in fact done so the night before.

He decided he still didn't care, except for how it might affect Beth.

They arrived at Oak Point one afternoon in mid-December, the sun mockingly bright as it lit the wreck of James's home. The house looked sound still, the walls and roof mostly undamaged, but there were broken windows, only some of which had been boarded up. The grounds were not as meticulously groomed as they would normally be, and James wrote that off to rumors of slaves carried away by plunderers who knew their value as portable and easily sold wealth. His man of affairs had notified him of such losses in letters, but James now suspected it might be more than he'd been told.

As he tied the horses and then lifted Beth from her saddle, he wondered about his household staff. Before the war, someone would have been there to take the horses, and his butler would have opened the door, sent someone for their baggage. The door remained firmly shut, and James was suddenly certain the house was completely empty.

Since he wasn't sure what they would find inside, he decided to leave the baggage on the pack horse, but he got one of his pistols from one of the packs, made sure it was loaded, and as he was about to suggest Beth wait for him, he caught her determined look.

"If I am in danger inside," she told him, "then surely I am in even more out here alone where I have no protection."

With no real argument to make, James took her hand and led her to the doors. Part of him didn't want to go inside, didn't want to see what had happened to the lovely home in which he had spent his life. Part of him knew he must. He turned the doorknob and pushed it open. He peered inside the shadowed foyer for a second, listened for any sound from inside, and when he was certain there was nothing dangerous to be heard or seen, he scooped Beth up and carried her over the threshold.

Her arms wound around his neck, and she gave him a subdued smile. There was an edge of bittersweet in the curve of her lips. He dipped his head to kiss her. "It likely won't be much until we can repair it," he warned as he set her on her feet once more.

"I don't mind," she assured him. "We shall make it as beautiful as it was before."

He gave her hand a quick squeeze and surveyed the entryway. The floorboards were no longer highly polished, showed signs of damage through gouges and scuffs in the oak planks. Paintings had been taken down, probably stolen, leaving behind only the darker paint they had covered. He was sorry to see that the Gainsborough landscape his father had brought back from London years ago was gone, though. The only furniture left in the entryway was a now-broken padded bench.

They worked their way methodically through the rooms on the ground floor, began with the parlor to the right of the foyer. Much of the furniture was still there, though nearly all of it had been damaged. A bookcase had had its glass front smashed, and the books were tumbled onto the floor, many seriously damaged. One set of drapes was missing, and another was puddled on the floor beneath the windows they had once covered. The portrait of his grandmother that had graced the wall above the fireplace now hung drunkenly, an ugly slash across her face. His mother had kept silver candlesticks and boxes on the fireplace mantel, all of which were now gone. The pianoforte in the corner looked as though someone had taken an axe to it. It was smashed, two of the legs broken so it tipped drunkenly into the room.

James and Beth picked their way across the floor to the small room beyond it that his mother had used as a sitting room. There, her little desk had been plundered, papers scattered across it and spilled onto the floor, and the paintings had also been removed. A workbasket had been dumped, though James had no idea what anyone thought they might have found there. The account books for the household had been rifled through then dropped onto the floor.

The dining room floor was filled with smashed china, and James didn't bother to cross to the sideboard, knew the silver and the bottles of wine, whiskey, and brandy would be gone. The walls were bare, and, to his grim amusement, someone had stolen the crystals from the chandelier. He shook his head, wondered what use they were without the rest of the fixture, and led Beth on to the next room.

The guest room was in a back corner of the house and overlooked what gardens Oak Point had. The curtains were torn from the bed, the mattress removed from the frame and torn to shreds. Most of the furniture was broken. Beth released his hand to finger the odd chunks cut from one of the four bedposts. Stepping next to her, James realized someone had used it for sabre practice. He noticed the Aubusson carpet his grandfather had purchased was gone.

His office had borne the brunt of the damage, though. Whoever had gone through it had been both thorough and as destructive as possible. Books had their pages torn out and scattered the floor. His desk had been taken apart, the drawers dumped and then broken. The furniture's upholstery had been shredded, and most of the remaining frames broken. Glassware had been shattered on the hearth. Everything of value had been stripped and removed.

Beth wrapped an arm around his waist, and James was glad she chose to remain silent. He wasn't ready to give voice to either the sadness he felt or the anger.

What they saw in the ground floor rooms was echoed in the upstairs. The only difference was that since the rooms had likely provided comfortable shelter, the furniture had mostly been spared. James, though, could not bring himself to sleep in a bed—based on the disturbance of the bedcovers—he was certain had been occupied by rebels. If he were fortunate, they had only slept there. Then he realized he should have thought that if his female slaves were fortunate, the rebels had only slept there.

"We'll choose a room," Beth said softly. "We can clear the worst of the mess and sleep on the floor for the night, and if I can find anyone still here to help, I shall begin cleaning tomorrow."

James's instinct was to simply leave, ride for Charles Town which was still held by the English, but he knew Beth was right. He had fought to come home, to take his life back up, and perhaps he could pay part of his penance by restoring his livelihood. He sighed, looked around the master bedroom, and said, "Not here."

In the end, they chose his mother's sitting room. There was less to move, less to clean up there, and the windows were intact. There was also a small stove to provide some warmth. Beth went to look for a broom and something in which to put the things that could not be saved. She suggested James make himself useful.

As he surveyed the room, he wondered if any of the slaves were still there, especially the house servants. Beth likely had no idea how to clean and keep house—beyond ordering it done, at least. She would need help, especially for any heavy lifting. He made a start on his mother's account books, used his sleeve to sweep the broken glass and china figurines off the shelf where they had been primly lined up before the house was ransacked, and bent and picked each up ledger, shook it free of debris, and placed it back where it belonged. When he finished that, he gathered the spilled papers, sorted them, stacked them on his mother's little escritoire. Her glass inkwell, empty, was on the floor near the curved foot of one of the desk's legs, and as he bent to retrieve it so it could anchor the stacked papers, he saw something stuck to the bottom of the escritoire. He knelt, pried the small packet from the wood.

When Beth returned, he sat on the floor next to the escritoire reading. "What have you found?"

"Come see," he said. She joined him, peered over his shoulder and gasped. It was a small journal written by his father, though how it had come to be pasted in a paper wrapper to the bottom of his mother's desk, he wasn't sure. His father had never been one to talk much, so to read his words neatly marching across the page in a tiny hand was a kind of treasure trove for James. His father had begun it when James was born, and though he didn't write each day, he had certainly marked what he saw as major milestones in his son's life. It humbled James to know his father had admired him as James had in turn admired his father. Reading those words helped remind him why it was important to stay, to do his duty to his people, and to find a way to do his duty as a citizen of South Carolina.

Beth leaned her head on his shoulder and smiled at him. "He must have loved you very much."

He felt his face heat. "He did, as did I—love him, that is." He closed the small book and tucked it in a pocket. "Let's finish this."

When they had the room tidied, he told her he would go outside and bring their things in. It was late in the day, by that point, and as he untied their things, he realized they would need a fire. They rarely experienced the kind of cold many in the north saw in South Carolina's low country, but it could get cold at night in the winter. He'd have to go find firewood since he doubted there was any coal to fire the stove, and he doubted there would be any chopped wood in the small shed where they had always kept some. When he dropped their bags in a corner of the room they'd cleared, he told Beth he would take the horses to the stables and then get an axe and see what he could do.

She nodded, and then she stepped toward him. "Perhaps I could go see if Maman Martine or any of the others are still here."

James had his doubts, figured someone would have come to see who had ridden up when they first arrived if there were, but then he realized the slaves might be in hiding since he was sure both the rebels and the English had taken the ones they could. He didn't like the idea of Beth going alone, though, and said so, asked her to wait until he could go with her.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. Then she cocked her head. "Give me one of your pistols if you like."

Studying her, he asked, "Can you even fire one?"

"Of course."

"You're not going to turn into Arianna and start demanding pistols at every turn are you?"

Her grin was enchanting, and James nearly decided firewood and checking on slaves could wait. Instead, he handed her the one he'd brought in with him and warned, "Be very careful."

"You be very careful as well."

At least there was reasonably fresh hay in the stable, so he removed tack and saddles and tended to and fed the horses. He found an axe in the empty woodshed, but before he could head for the small copse nearby, one of the slaves came running up. He recognized Job, one of the stable hands. "Mr. James!"

The young man was out of breath. He reached a hand out. "I'll get you some wood. Maisie'll be up to the house with some food shortly."

Maisie was the house slave his mother and Bess had trained as a housekeeper. He nodded, handed the axe over and asked, "How many of you are left?"

The man shrugged. "Not sure, Mr. James. Some were took. Some ran."

And yet he and Maisie hadn't. James nearly asked why. Instead, he nodded. "I'm very glad to see you, Job."

Job flashed a smile. "Tell the truth, Mr. James, it seemed safer to stay here than take our chances running."

James nodded. He was well aware the man owed him no special loyalty, especially since the slaves had been left at Oak Point with no particular protection. That, James knew, was his failing, though it did prompt him to ask, "Mr. Brandon—where's he?"

The man's face hardened. "Your man went to that little farm you bought before you went to soldier, Mr. James. Said it was safer there."

Nodding once more, James thanked him, watched thoughtfully as Job went about his task. James went looking for Beth.

He found her in the small brick building that held the stillroom next to the medicinal garden Mama Martine tended. The old slave sat in a chair next to a stove near her workbench, and Beth sat in another chair next to her.

"Mr. James!" the slave said with a wide smile. She started to rise, but he waved for her to remain seated. "It's about time you come home."

"Past time," he admitted, wished he'd never left.

"This child says she's Mrs. James, now."

He smiled at a blushing Beth. "She is."

"You two best give us some good babies, then. There's a lot to be done here, and you'll need those babies in time," Mama Martine ordered.

"We'll do our best," he promised.

"Go on with you then," she said with a shooing motion. She turned to Beth. "We got plenty of time to catch up. You go with that man of yours, come see me another day."

As they walked toward the house, James told Beth, "Sometimes I wonder who is really master here."

She laughed, and he liked the sound of it even though he suspected her laughter was at his expense.

Maisie greeted them at the door, looked apologetic. "There isn't much, Mr. James."

"Anything will do," he assured her.

He and Beth retired to the dining room, began to clean the broken crockery from the table and floor. They had barely begun before two servants arrived to take over. Beth insisted on helping, so James remained as well. By the time Maisie came in with a couple of plates filled with what looked like boiled chicken, potatoes, and some cooked greens, the table was cleared and wiped cleaned and most of the floor had been freed of its litter. A child followed Maisie with two earthen mugs full of milk.

Another servant came in with candles, set them on the table, lit them, and then left. James held Beth's chair for her before taking his own. He was well aware they were being fed from the slave's dinner, but he didn't mind, nor, apparently, did Beth. He hoped, though, that none of the slaves went hungry in order to feed the master and their mistress. He told his wife, "It's not exactly what I had in mind for our first dinner at home."

By the time they finished, it was growing dark. James lifted the candelabra and walked with it to his mother's sitting room. Job had built a fire in the little stove, and someone had made a sleeping pallet on the floor. James set the lit candles on a small tripod table that had been moved inside and gathered Beth close. He was tempted to talk to her about what was likely in store for them but, she went up on her toes, kissed him. "Tomorrow, James," she whispered. "We'll discuss it all tomorrow. Tonight, let's just think about more pleasant things."

James decided thinking was unnecessary and set about doing pleasant things with his wife.

-X-

The next morning, he rode to the Smallwood farm and found his man of business. Beth remained home with several maids who had come to help her begin clearing out the house so the carpenters could begin to repair the damage. James would have to send to town for glass, if any could even be found, so he suggested the windows be temporarily repaired some other way until that could be done.

He had a long discussion with Marcus Brandon, who detailed the losses. He explained that he had not replaced the slaves since the new ones would only be stolen or run away, and James seethed a little that the man apparently hadn't thought about how to prevent either. Still, he agreed that it would likely have been throwing money away, money James would need to repair the house and to buy more labor.

Riding home, he pondered his options. According to Marcus, South Carolina was now considering how to deal with men like James, men who had fought on what was the losing side. Before their interview concluded, James suspected the man was in a hurry to return to Charles Town and leave aboard the first ship he could catch so that he wouldn't be punished for James's transgression in choosing the King. He nearly dismissed him on the spot, but then he decided instead to thank the man for his service to him and to tell him that if he chose to leave he would understand. Marcus Brandon had gone red in his embarrassment and said he'd remain. James now calculated how long it might likely be before Marcus changed his mind.

He went to see his overseer next, a man who was a freedman who supervised his field hands. Most of James's neighbors thought his father had taken leave of his senses when he hired a former slave to that position, but the man had been steadfast in his duties, and he'd never been cruel to the slaves, unlike many white overseers. If he was uncomfortable in his position, Roman Banks had never said. The man told him they would have a hard time planting all they had before the war with the remaining workers and that expanding to the Smallwood farm would be impossible. He told James that if he wanted to scale back that year, they could likely turn a bit of a profit. Banks admitted it might be a slim profit, but it would at least get James a crop. They agreed that rice was the best option, despite the labor required, and they decided a little cotton wouldn't be a bad choice either.

James mentioned that his new wife wanted to expand the gardens, and the man laughed, shook his head. "You've got some hands who are really too old to do the field work who might welcome some lighter duties." Banks agreed to talk to them for James.

Feeling he'd had a productive morning, James returned to the house. Beth had martialed her own troops he soon saw as he walked inside the front door. There seemed to be women everywhere clearing away what had been destroyed, and a couple of boys hauled broken furniture downstairs and out of the house. He found his wife on the second floor helping take up a ruined carpet.

Beth was obviously enjoying herself, and James found himself hard-pressed to remember a time any other woman of his station—let alone hers—had resorted to menial labor without considerable duress. He considered the conundrum that was, sometimes, his wife.

She spied him and smiled happily at him. He decided to leave her to it, see if he could restore some order to his office.

That evening she chattered happily to him about her day, and James began to realize that she liked to be useful. His mother's idea of useful clearly differed from Beth's in that his mother generally found being useful meant she organized her household and issued orders, but Beth clearly preferred to pitch right in. Some of Robert and Will Cameron's remarks about her were suddenly clearer to James. He saw nothing wrong with what she chose to do. He worked alongside his slaves, so he saw no reason Beth should not do so if it made her happy.

It would, of course, scandalize his mother and her friends. James decided they could think what they chose if allowing Beth to do as she wished meant she was happy.

They slept on the pallet in his mother's sitting room once more. Beth confessed she was having a new mattress made for what would now be their bed rather than simply his. She shuddered as she told him that, and James decided not to ask why she had found it necessary. She also told him she had written his mother to tell her they had arrived at Oak Point. "I did not tell her the full extent of the damage," she confessed, "but I told her it might be wise if they remained in Charles Town for now."

James agreed. He didn't explain to Beth that he had a feeling Charles Town would now be a rebel target, and he'd prefer someone be in residence at their town house when that happened. He doubted the rebels would damage the city much because they would need it, so he thought his mother and Katy were likely safe there.

"I asked if she could send us some things from town," she added. When he asked what, she named building supplies the plantation could not provide. She blushed in the candlelight. "I thought we'd wait until later to replace furniture. If this is to be your mother's home as well as ours, she should have some say in what we place here."

James suspected that in her shoes Temperance Wilkins would simply have ordered what she wished and expected her mother-in-law to like it. He said nothing of that, though, simply pulled Beth to him and began to press kisses along her exposed skin while his fingers went to work on the shift she wore to sleep in. He hoped she hadn't requested the rest of her clothes be sent because he liked her somewhat limited wardrobe for its most salient feature: it was simple to remove.

He trailed kisses behind the hand that stroked her shift aside. His other hand smoothed up her leg to gather the fabric so he could fully remove it from her. Beth tugged at his own clothes, exposed what she could reach of him, and when he had her naked, he shed the rest of his garments and positioned himself over her. "Think we could make one of those good babies Mama Martine demanded?"

She laughed softly at his whispered question. "I understand that is our primary duty as husband and wife." Her hands ran down his body, closed around him. "I'm very fortunate to have such an upstanding man for my husband."

He grinned at her choice of word. "I'm the fortunate one," he assured her. "It seems my wife has unknown depths."

"You should explore them," she suggested solemnly.

"I intend to." He caught her lips, kissed until she admitted him, and when he freed her mouth added, "Often." James positioned himself at her entrance, slid slowly inside, and watched her face as he did so. She welcomed him, lifted slightly so he could settle more deeply within her. Beth pulled his mouth to hers, and there was no more talking as they stroked hands, moved bodies, tasted until they shattered.

As he drifted off to sleep, James pulled Beth more tightly to him, breathed in her scent, and thought the only thing better would be if they were in their bed and the troubled times were behind them.


	34. Chapter 34

This is the final chapter. Thanks for reading, and special thanks to those who not only read but reviewed.

**Some Desperate Glory—Chapter 34**

They had a quiet Christmas at Oak Point. They had a letter from Temperance Wilkins informing them that she'd chosen to take her son's advice and not risk leaving Charleston. While he would have liked to have his mother and Katy home, was certain Beth longed to have her sister with her, he knew it was best for all of them. He didn't like it, though, especially when he remembered the misery of his previous Christmas.

James wondered if his social set had returned to their usual traditions for the holiday, but he had no intention of venturing out to learn whether they had or not. It had been abundantly clear that his friends knew he'd married Will Cameron's wife and that she had divorced their late neighbor. Simply attending church one Sunday not long after returning home had been enough to convince him that neither he nor Beth were welcome in public, let alone in society. She had weathered it better than he, and his neighbors had at least been polite enough not to say anything where she might hear it. Aside from that one foray into company and the occasional trip to a local village for supplies, he hadn't seen another soul save Marcus Brandon and his slaves. James was fine with that. With any luck, no one would molest them in their home.

There were still occasional skirmishes between the rebels and the English, he knew from his mother's letters, but James had decided he was finished with war. He'd defend himself and what was his if anyone brought a fight to him, but he would do no more than that.

A few days after the new year began, the first refugee showed up at Oak Point. James knew the woman and her children, and Beth took them into the dining room, ordered food for them. They let them rest in the now-restored downstairs bedroom until the woman decided to continue on her way a day or so later. Each time someone turned up, rebel or loyalist, Beth and James saw they were fed, had a place to rest, and given what provisions could be spared when they set out again.

For one woman, an elderly widow who had been dispossessed of her property by a loyalist, Beth asked James if it were possible to let her remain, perhaps in one of the overseer's houses near the slave quarters. He had been about to refuse, but she told him, "Maman Martine says she will not live much longer, has a cancer that is killing her."

He spoke with the woman, and after hearing her tale offered her the use of the house. Her husband had been a rebel, her late son as well, she told him. She was reluctant to accept his offer, mainly, he realized, because he had served under Colonel Tavington. He assured her he was finished with war, wanted only to settle back into his life. Apparently, that helped persuade her. He was uncomfortable when she cried, clutched his hand in gratitude. Beth took her with her when she went to see to making the house ready for her, and James returned to his office and wondered if his home was about to become the local poor house, a way station for the displaced if nothing else, and he wondered if he could afford it.

Then he wondered how many dispossessed there were, how many were women or children. He would do his Christian duty, but he must provide for his own family first.

One afternoon as he surveyed a field, made plans with Roman Banks, Benjamin Martin and Charlotte Selton drove up in a cart. James crossed to the road where Martin pulled up and waited for him. He noticed Charlotte held an infant in her arms, and he suspected she had finally managed to get the man she'd always wanted. James was not about to remark on that, though, since that marriage was likely as controversial as his own. There were just as many social barriers to Martin's marriage to his sister-in-law as there were to his own with Beth.

Greetings out of the way, James agreed to meet them at the house. He watched them drive away before turning to give instructions to Roman and mount the horse he'd ridden to the field.

James arrived at the house to see Beth smiling at the child Charlotte held. Beth took one look at his solemn face and invited the other woman inside. Martin lingered. "I hoped we could talk, James."

He invited the other man inside, but Martin shook his head. "I'd rather your wife didn't hear."

Gesturing to the path that led to the gardens, James motioned for the other man to precede him.

"I've never had a quarrel with you," Martin began when they had left the house behind them, "and I have none now. I'm here, though, to offer you a friendly warning."

"Leave," James said without inflection. He'd heard rumors that the Patriots, as they styled themselves, were going to expel from South Carolina those who had remained loyal to the King. He knew they had convened an assembly meeting, elected officials, and would soon begin debating punishments. James had no illusions about what he faced, but he still held hope that he would be allowed to withdraw from public life, remain on his land, live his life quietly.

"That's the advice most would give you," Martin agreed with a nod. They walked silently a moment. "My militia agreed to disband, but we also agreed to return to service should the need arise." He looked at James. "That's partly why I am here."

James braced himself for the order to pack up and go.

"Were you aware that John Rutledge issued a proclamation in September that offered a pardon to those loyalists who switched sides and fought for our cause for at least six months?"

He nodded. His mother had written him about the proclamation and those who had chosen to leave Charles Town and accept the offer. "I'm not eligible," James pointed out. "As I understand it, the offer was made to those still in South Carolina at the time, and there was a time limit on the offer. I hadn't left Yorktown before that expired."

Martin nodded in return. "Funny how people have conveniently forgotten what the deadline for acceptance was."

James stopped, turned to face Martin who stopped as well. "Are you inviting me to join your militia?" He wasn't sure what to think or why Martin would even consider such an offer.

"You're a good man James, and so was your father. It's been obvious since you returned from Yorktown that you intend to not take sides. You've offered assistance to those who need it regardless of what side they chose." He sighed. "I think you should know that Rutledge is gathering a new general assembly in Jacksonborough. They intend to convene a government and create laws in anticipation of the war's end."

"So I've heard," James said, crossed his arms over his chest. Rutledge had barred loyalists from voting and from running for seats in the Assembly. James had had a seat before the war, but he had never really enjoyed the position.

"Then you know what they plan as their first order of business."

"Banishing those who chose the wrong side, I presume."

"It's more complicated than that," Martin told him, and James read a hint of distaste on the man's face. "They're drawing up lists, lists of loyalists and their crimes. It's my belief that this action is either simple vindictiveness or outright greed. They're planning on publicly naming them in a confiscation act. Your name has already been submitted by several for the most severe category—confiscation and execution."

While James had expected punishment for supporting England, that was far beyond what he hoped that punishment would be. He supposed that Tavington's reputation would tip the scales against him despite the fact James had conducted himself within the rules of war and as a gentleman. He'd stopped his men from plundering, and he had not directly engaged in house-burning, which seemed to be the worst crime with which the rebels generally charged those who had taken up arms for the King. He hadn't stopped any burnings, though.

And then he thought of Pembroke.

"We engaged the Green Dragoons often enough to be well aware of the guilty and the less guilty," Martin continued. "You and Ramsdell were among those who demonstrated the conduct of gentlemen. If it were enough to simply vouch for you, I would with an easy conscience, but with Helen Cameron bending the ears of every house and senate member she can find about Pembroke and Will's murder—as she terms it—not mention your infidelity with her former daughter-in-law," Martin shrugged, "my word will not be enough."

For a moment, he wondered if Arianna would offer to shoot Helen Cameron for him. He'd happily supply the pistol this time. He dropped his arms. "I appreciate your warning," he began, but he stopped when Martin raised a hand.

"I'm not finished." The other man studied James. "There will be a considerable amount of horse trading once they begin deliberations, but they all believe that in order to move forward, they have to prove that prominent men will pay the penalties as well as those who were simply doing what was expedient once Cornwallis took Charles Town and Camden." Martin grimaced. "They will also pass an amercement act, a substantial tax on the full value of some gentlemen's estates. With any luck, you will be moved to one of those lists rather than the confiscation list, but I wouldn't hold out hope, James."

"So I should sell and leave?" He felt a growing anger. He might have chosen the losing side, but if he were willing to live amongst his former enemies peaceably, then he should be allowed to do so. No government, in his eyes, had the right to strip him of his property. A part of him thought that had rather been one of the points of the Patriot's rebellion.

"That will not be an option."

James's jaw tightened, and he narrowed his eyes at Martin.

"Rutledge has already outlined what he wants, and what he wants is a way to pay war debts, rebuild, and fund his government. He's maneuvering to get his brother Edward elected the chair of the confiscation committee, and that means Rutledge will get exactly what he wants. Part of what he wants is to have any land purchases made by loyalists after the war began nullified and confiscated—"

"So I lose Smallwood's farm," James breathed. If that was all they took, he'd consider it an acceptable loss. He'd lost enough slaves that working it would prove difficult at best.

Martin nodded. "They'll make sure you can't transfer it to Katy or your mother or your wife as well. They need the money, and Oak Point is a prime plantation. Selling it for even a fraction of its value will do a lot to fill empty coffers, even without the slaves." Martin eyed James. "I think you know as well as I do that you'll lose it all if you leave, James."

"It sounds as though I will lose both Oak Point and my life if I remain."

"Tempers will cool. Even the hottest blowhard understands that if we banish every man and woman who in any way aided the English, then most of the white citizens of this colony will have to leave. We need good men, and you've always been counted among those. If you stay put, stay quiet, and petition whatever their final decision is, I think you might eventually prevail. If you leave, your cause is lost."

"I have a family," James tersely said, and he wasn't sure he could risk them. He was willing to take his chances, but he was not willing to risk Beth's, his mother's or Katy's lives.

"And if you want to provide for them, you will have to do whatever you can to make sure you stay off the confiscation lists." Martin shook his head. "It won't be easy, and it may take years, but I think most people can eventually be persuaded to leave you alone, let you and your family live in relative peace."

James calculated the probability of that for a moment. "Beth."

"I'm hardly in a position to judge, James," he said with a lift of his brows, "but I can't say the same for others. Helen and Honoria Cameron are doing their best to destroy your reputation, and at this point, Pembroke and your wife are their most persuasive weapons."

They returned to walking the path on which they stood. After a while, James asked, "Did you marry Charlotte, then?"

"Not yet," he admitted. "We hope that among the new laws enacted will be one that lifts some of the prohibited degrees of relationship. If not, then I expect we will simply enter into a common law arrangement."

James nodded. "There are those who probably think that Beth and I should have simply been lovers."

"Given what I now know of Will Cameron," Martin said, "I'm willing to concede that it's unlikely he had consummated his marriage to your wife, and in my eyes that means you were within your rights to marry her. On the other hand," he admitted, shot James an uncomfortable look, "the haste with which it was done will surely do more to earn condemnation, particularly among the women."

They walked in silence for a while. "I fear that in order to demonstrate my own honor, or what is left of it, I may have to expose the reason Beth's first marriage was never consummated."

"It would put you in an awkward position," Martin acknowledged, "particularly since Thomas Henderson says your sister and his brother Toby plan to marry."

That had been a growing concern of James's. He loved his sister, wanted her happiness, but he couldn't help wondering if Toby's family would refuse to allow the boy to marry Katy because of James. If Oak Point was confiscated and if James was executed as a traitor, then it was doubtful. He hated to be the reason she would lose the man she clearly loved and who, fortunately, loved her.

"Perhaps they should do so soon."

This time he shot a look at Martin.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a Patriot in the family."

"I'll not sell my sister for my honor," he bit out angrily.

"Think of it as gaining an advocate or a bargaining chip." At James's angry glare, Martin nodded, put up his hands. "Admittedly, that was in poor taste, but word has it they love one another, and Toby Henderson's father has been elected to the Assembly. He is unlikely to want to harm his son's bride."

"No." He hoped Martin understood that James simply refused to use Katy's fiancé and his family to protect himself. As far as James was concerned, if Katy and Toby married soon, that was their decision, but he would not advocate a hasty wedding in order to gain any advantage for himself.

When they rejoined the women, Beth sat on a newly mended sofa holding Charlotte's infant. It wasn't hard to see how enchanted she was with the child, and James gave thought to whether he could in good conscience leave her either pregnant or with a child if he could not be saved from execution.

Martin and Charlotte Selton stayed for dinner, and James noted how different Beth was in their company compared to how she had been when others were present during her marriage to Will. At nearly every social engagement at which he had observed her, she had been withdrawn, had not participated in conversations or entertainments. Now, she smiled, she laughed, she spoke with an animation he had generally only seen in private. Of course, with only the four of them present, perhaps she saw it as private.

He commented on it as they settled into bed. Beth met his eyes. "I was always afraid of what Will might think," she admitted quietly. "He didn't want me, but if he thought anyone else did, then he felt the need to punish me. It was simply easier to ignore everyone and not call attention to myself rather than tempt his abuse."

For a while, they lay silently in the dark. James thought about what she said, and then he began to tell her what Benjamin Martin had come to tell him, told her he was afraid they might have to tell others about what Will had done to her.

"I will do what I must, James, but he's dead." Beth kissed him then. "I am not in the least sorry that he is, but I would prefer not to have to expose what he was truly like, especially since I think it will do none of us any good."

-X-

Not surprisingly, the confiscation and amercement acts filled the news James and Beth received from his family still in Charles Town. The weeks during which it was deliberated were fraught for James. Benjamin Martin kept him apprised of the negotiations. Martin had been elected to the Assembly, and his militia had been called to provide protection while the assemblymen conducted their business. As Martin had predicted, there were gradations of guilt in the confiscation act, a reflection of Governor Rutledge's address to the opening of the General Assembly. James's name was continually placed in the class of individuals labelled only "obnoxious persons." Martin had kindly explained that meant those individuals who were guilty of severe crimes for which they must not be forgiven.

The first bright spot had been the letter he received from Martin a few days later telling him he'd been moved to the column for those who had borne arms for the English. James knew that meant they wouldn't kill him, but they'd take everything he had and banish him.

Several letters reported success in getting James moved to the amercement list only to be followed each time by news he'd been put back on the confiscation list. That went back and forth to the point that James decided not to worry, to continue his work to restore his home and his land, and to wait for the final resolution.

In the meantime, Marcus Brandon left, took his wages, packed his bags, and disappeared. James decided there was no need to replace him until his own situation was settled.

That didn't mean he did nothing but wait. He wrote his attorney, instructed Thomas Fountaine to begin the process of preparing and filing a petition. He knew it was unlikely he'd be restored to full citizenship, that all would be forgiven, so he held to low expectations regarding his chances. He was, though, surprised when Toby Henderson turned up.

The younger man was there to gather support for James's petition, but after dinner that evening, he asked to speak to James alone. The younger man finally formally asked to marry Katy, and James heard him out. When the boy finished, he studied Toby and said, "Alright."

Toby blinked. "Alright?"

"You may marry my sister, though you may wish to wait until my problems are resolved." It amused James that the younger man clearly had no idea why James would counsel him so. He sighed, explained. "You parents might not wish you to tie yourself to the family of a man who has been declared a traitor and lost his estates, or worse, is executed for his failure to serve South Carolina in its darkest hour." Toby looked further confused when James echoed the language some of the Patriots used in denouncing loyalists. He sighed, raked a hand over the hair he'd had his manservant cut short since he never again intended to wear it long enough to queue back as the Dragoons had required. "I could be banished or executed before this is over, Toby. Your family will not want you to marry the sister of a traitor."

Toby breathed in deeply then released it. "My brother Thomas plans to file a letter of support for your petition, James, one that sets right the record on Pembroke."

It was James's turn to be shocked, and he stared at the young man across from him.

"We—my brothers and I—all knew about Michael and Will Cameron," Toby explained, his face a deep red. "Michael told Thomas that Will burned the church in Pembroke. Dan Scott has also corroborated that Will told Michael as much one night in camp. Since that is the most damning accusation against you, if they are believed, then you should, at worst, be amerced rather than have Oak Point and all the rest of your property confiscated." Toby paused, ran his tongue nervously over his lips and added, "It may take longer to get your rights as a citizen fully restored."

James appreciated how the other man phrased it because even he knew those rights might never be restored, and while he didn't like being disenfranchised, he supposed it was a better price to pay than death. He would take Benjamin Martin at his word; if he could manage to avoid the execution and confiscation list, he'd wait the Patriots' anger out.

In bed that night, he told Beth that he'd said yes when Toby asked to marry Katy. She was pleased for Katy, but when he told her about what Toby's brother planned to do, she asked the question that had belatedly occurred to James: "Why would a man who liked you as little as his brother Michael did want to help you?"

James thought about it. "Maybe he knows Toby genuinely loves Katy and wants his brother to be happy." He kissed Beth. "Maybe he knows that if you and I have no children, Oak Point will go to Katy and her husband—or their children. That means he will inherit more of the Hendersons' own plantation with both Michael and Toby out of the picture."

"That's terribly self-serving," Beth said primly.

"That's the way men think sometimes," James told her.

"Do you?"

He shook his head. "If I were the one plotting, I'd figure it would be wiser to make sure I lose Oak Point so I could pick it up cheaply when it's sold at auction."

It wasn't hard to see that Beth didn't share his view or his attempt at levity, though what he said was definitely true.

-X-

One morning as they finished breakfast, Job, whom Beth had made the butler since their regular butler was in Charles Town with James's mother and Katy, entered the dining room and told him there were some men there to see him. He looked at Beth, felt dread wash over him. "Show them to my office."

"James—"

"Let's see what they're here for, Beth, before we worry." He stood, dropped a kiss on her lips and went to find out.

There were three of them, and James knew each one. Patriots all, he wondered if they had come to arrest him. A fourth joined them just as James was about to invite them to take seats. He wasn't reassured that the fourth man was Benjamin Martin.

"James, we've come to hear your side of the charges against you," the oldest man said. Randall Warwick had been one of his father's friends, and James studied him. It was unusual for them to come to him, to offer him the opportunity to explain his actions, especially since every loyalist in the province, practically, was dogging their steps in Jacksonborough in an attempt to clear their names. He eyed Martin and was suddenly certain the other man had engineered this. He still didn't understand why the man bothered, especially since Martin had lost so much—including two sons—to James's commanding officer. Still, he'd humor them.

"I cannot answer until I know what those charges might be," James said.

"You took up arms against your country," Richard Henderson said.

James bit back his first response—that he had supported his lawful government. Henderson was young Toby's father, and how James answered might affect Katy's happiness. He had never hidden his views, had spoken against rebellion in the Assembly before the war even began. He thought a moment, tempered his words, and said calmly, "At the time I joined the Green Dragoons, I did so because I believed that my lawful government was that of England."

"Then why did you not remain with the English army, leave Yorktown with them?" Warwick asked.

Thoughtfully, James studied him. The man had once taken pleasure in saying he was descended from the legendary Kingmaker, Richard of Warwick, during the Wars of the Roses. He wondered whether the man now thought it shameful to have an ancestor who had not only wanted to rule the English King but, perhaps, to have sat upon the throne himself. "I am a South Carolinian," James said as calmly as he could. "I was born here, my home is here, and I have no desire to live anywhere else."

"Then you should have fought for her!" John Beasley snapped.

"I did fight for her and for what was her rightful government at the time," James returned, a little more testily than he should have, probably, but he would not apologize for having followed his own convictions just as they had followed theirs. "I served the losing side. I admit that, but I feel no shame in having done so. I realize that is not what you came to hear me say, but I must tell you what my honest motivation was." He swept his gaze over each of the men seated before him. "That does not mean that I am not willing or cannot now serve a new government."

He could tell from Benjamin Martin's pained expression that he had probably ruined his chances, but James would not lie about what he had done or why. If he did, then he failed to see how any man could believe him when he agreed to do whatever they were here to ask of him in order to keep Oak Point. It was a matter of principle to him to be honest about the choices he had made.

"Martin here tells us you understand that we are considering you for the confiscation act, in particular the list that names those who will not only lose all their property but will sacrifice their lives as well," Henderson said. "Why should we not allow that to happen?"

James sat quietly, wondered if they simply hoped he'd pack up and leave so that they would not have to actually condemn him. On the off chance they sincerely sought a way to save him, he thought through what might be his best, most persuasive arguments in his own favor. "I will not deny what I just told you gentlemen because to do so would be to lie. A gentleman is only as good as his word, my father always said, so I will speak the truth here. The war has taught me that I never want to see its like again. I believe we can all admit many of us made poor and regrettable choices, that both sides committed atrocities against one another, but I did my best not to participate in those and to keep my men from doing so as well. I acknowledge that I served under the Butcher, Colonel Tavington, but I did not follow his example as an officer. I did my best to remain a gentlemen in all manner of engagements and in the execution of my duties, and I tried as much as I was able to see that those who served under me did so as well."

Warwick eyed him harshly. "Yet you burned a church, murdered your neighbors at Pembroke."

It saddened James that one of his father's friends could believe he might have done as accused. "I did not do the deed, though I was ordered to do so."

"All South Carolina has heard that your hand was the one that flung the first torch."

He met Henderson's gaze. He thought of what Toby had told him, but he was not going to voice the accusation he so badly wanted to make. "It is true I was ordered to do so because Colonel Tavington believed I was not a loyal officer and that my sympathies lay with my fellow South Carolinians. He expected me to prove my loyalty to the King by killing my neighbors. I very nearly did as ordered, but in the end, I did not."

His words were close to a lie, though the bare facts were true. James was not fully comfortable with the distinction.

"Then who did?" Beasley demanded.

"When we left Pembroke," James said, "the village and the church still stood, there was no fire, and the people inside the church were alive. I do not know for certain who set light to it and committed murder."

"Why should we believe you?" Warwick asked. This time he tempered his question.

"I have lived my life as an honorable, honest man."

The second he said it, he knew what was coming, and it did.

"Helen Cameron and her daughter claim you are far from an honest or an honorable man."

"I am sorry she thinks so," James said, and he kept his eyes on Beasley, who had made the charge.

"Do you deny that you cuckolded Will Cameron?" the little man demanded.

James wanted to sigh in exasperation. There was no way he could answer that without starting down a road that would lead to revelations about the Cameron family it might be best to leave unsaid, especially since Will was not there to defend himself and Helen and Honoria Cameron were women. It was not the mark of a gentleman to slander women, no matter how deserving that pair might be.

"I will take your silence on the matter—since you are an honest man—to mean you did," Beasley said.

Richard Henderson coughed, cleared his throat. "I don't believe we should take either Helen or Honoria Cameron's word for this, Beasley."

"Do you mean to say the woman lies?" Warwick grumbled. "God knows the daughter wouldn't know the truth if it whacked her ass with an andiron, but Helen has always been a fine, upstanding woman."

"What he means," Martin said smoothly, "is that there are things about Will Cameron that his mother may not have known." He looked at James, raised his brows in question, and James sighed, nodded.

"For one, he never consummated his marriage with the woman who is now James's wife." Martin paused, eyed the other men. "For another, Will beat his wife."

"Many men beat their wives," Beasley dismissed.

"Not many allow their family to starve her to death over a legacy from her father-in-law," James snapped. He then tersely related how Beth had come to live with his family when Tavington burned Hart's Crossing.

"We have only your word for this, Wilkins," Warwick said.

"Not so," Henderson said. "My son, Michael, told me that what James claims is true."

"Again," Warwick said, "we have only James's word."

"That is true," James admitted, "but there used to be a time when that word was trusted."

Beasley snorted, but the others said nothing.

"Do you intend to submit to the new government?" Warwick asked, and this time he sounded more curious than belligerent.

Nodding, James said, "I will recognize the government forming at Jacksonborough as the rightful government. I will accede to what it determines is the correct path for South Carolina."

"If that correct path means taking Oak Point and all else you have, what then?" Henderson asked.

"To be honest," James admitted, "I will petition to keep Oak Point. I understand I must make some sacrifices to show I have been punished, but I will do what I must to keep the land my family has owned for the better part of a century." He eyed the men before him. "I will not take up arms against the new government, I will not speak of rebellion against it, but I will not submit to confiscation until I have exhausted the resources open to a gentleman in order to retain what is mine."

Oddly, that seemed to be a satisfactory answer.

That didn't stop him from second guessing himself for days after they left.

-X-

When the acts were finally passed, James nearly wept with relief to learn he'd be amerced thirty percent of the value of all his real and personal property. After he read the news in a letter from Benjamin Martin, he handed the letter to Beth, told her, "It came down to the last vote. They made it thirty percent rather than the twelve most will be assessed because I fought with the Green Dragoons and Tavington."

Beth put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I'll pay the fine," she told him. "I more than have the money, and you need yours to provide us a home."

About to argue, James instead let Beth pull his head down and kiss him. "I owe you more than you will ever know, James, and I have no need for the money. I'll pay what they assess, and then it is all over. We can get on with our lives, we can have children and raise them, and we will be happy."

"You know," he told her, wrapping his arms around her, "I could petition—"

"We will pay, James," she told him firmly. "We will pay, and they will have no further reason to bother us. The war will fade away, the fact that you served will not be forgotten, but it likely will be forgiven eventually by those who know you. Let it end here."

He looked down at her, cocked his head. "Perhaps you could persuade me."

She smiled at him. "That manuscript I once describe to you has unexplored wonders."

"Show me wonders, Your Highness."

Beth made a face. "Use that title again, and there will be no wonders for you."

"In that case," he said, "we'll go with the new order. No royalty, simply equal men."

She cranked a brow up. "Funny how women don't appear in that statement."

He bent, kissed her thoroughly. "I think you're well aware where you are in the hierarchy, Beth."

Taking him by the hand, she began dragging him toward the stairs. "Then let me order you about."

Not about to let her know he'd always take these particular orders, he let her lead them to their bedroom where he took seriously Mama Martine's notion of making good babies.


End file.
